


So Much Ahead

by ourloveisgod



Category: Rhett & Link
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Infidelity, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-21
Updated: 2016-08-19
Packaged: 2018-06-09 20:46:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 118,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6922780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ourloveisgod/pseuds/ourloveisgod
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One year ago, Rhett broke Link's heart and then Link broke everything. Now, teetering on the edge of divorce and losing everything he's built, all Link can think about is Rhett and how they left things. How they broke things. And all Link wants to do is fix it. But seeing Rhett is seeing all the damage he has done, and how can there be so much ahead when behind them is nothing but regret? </p><p>Future fic set one year after the tumultuous end of Good Mythical Morning, picking up in September 2017.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. While We Still Have Time

It was not a gradual thing, the end of everything. It was simple: they were fine and then they weren’t. Rhett stormed out and Link never apologized and a week later they sat across from one another and decided it was the end. Rhett’s big hands were clasped on top of the table and he pulled them away when Link tried to touch them. Link had no idea why he tried; Rhett would not even look him in the eye from the moment they sat down. The last time they were at the same table they had sat beside one another, bumping elbows as they talked work over lunch. Feeling like a stranger in his own skin, Link wanted to crawl out of it the longer he sat trying to get his best friend in the world to look at him. 

“Rhett…” he began, with no clear cut idea of where he was going.

“I have nothing to say to you,” Rhett replied. And that was it. That was all. They went their separate ways for the first time in their lives. Rhett stayed because he always stayed and Link left because running was what he was good at. He picked up his family and he moved them away again, although not nearly as far as the first time. He moved them across town, as far from Rhett as he could get without admitting defeat. Leaving Los Angeles entirely would be surrender and one thing Link could not do was admit that maybe, this time, he was wrong. He was in the right; he was always in the right. Through everything, through it all. 

(Number one: getting involved was a mistake. Number two: trying to hide it from their wives was an even bigger one. Number three: trying desperately to cling to it, to salvage their friendship, was the worst thing they could have done. And number four: they were never, ever going to recover from what they did to one another.)

Link hated being right about some things. 

But Link left and Rhett stayed and everything fell apart after that. Good Mythical Morning ended, abrupt, in the middle of season ten, and the fans were never going to forgive them. Link relinquished his half of everything without a fight because more than anything he owed Rhett an easy exit. If he was going to be the one to run he had to be the one to give up every last thing that was theirs. The two of them did not speak as they helped their loyal, soon to be unemployed crew dismantle the set they spent years building. Rhett had his back to Link every time he tried to speak and before long he gave up trying. The crew tried to keep spirits high, making jokes and breaking into painfully phony smiles when they caught Link eying them. It was good of them to try but neither Rhett nor Link were up to hours of banter and timid laughter. Not one of them lingered once the lights went out for the last time and Link did not blame them. He didn’t much want to be there, either. 

His voice was thick from disuse when he tried to say goodbye to Rhett. _This could be the last time_ , his heart reminded him, but his brain told his stupid heart to shut up and get used to that deep, dull ache deep inside it. It was not going to go away anytime soon. “G’bye,” Link said, and for the first time all day Rhett looked down at him. He frowned, mulling something over, chewing the inside of his cheek. When he spoke his voice was just as creaky as Link’s. 

“It was good, you know,” Rhett said. “It was so, so good. When you let it be.” And that was the last thing he said. He loped from the barren studio, head down, hands in his pockets, looking a hell of a lot smaller than he had any right to look. For a moment Link let himself hate Rhett for it. But as quickly as it came on it dissipated, leaving Link alone in a dark studio in a place that used to always be filled with light. He waited for the door to close behind Rhett before he let himself get lost. He leaned against the wall, forehead on the cool plaster, and he released the breath he had been holding all day. Only after that did the tears he had been fighting back gather at the corners of his eyes. They burned there, Link praying for them not to fall, because when has crying ever gotten him anywhere? He was not that weak; he was not going to give Rhett that kind of power over him. He was _not_ going to cry over his best friend and he was _not_ going to sink to the floor on his ass and bury his head in both hands. But as hard as he tried to convince himself he ended up on the floor anyhow. 

It wasn’t fair. 

They had everything. They had families, two families they made into one. They had the best job in the world, the sweetest, most perfect lives. Everything was in order and everything was good. Everything made sense and everything was right. Until it wasn’t. One moment of weakness from Link started it all, one chaste kiss that tasted like peanut butter and peppermint and all the years they wasted not tasting one another at all. One kiss led to two, to a hundred, to more than Link could count if he had all the time in the world. And there was no coming back from that. One kiss led to working late nights just so Link could hold Rhett for a little bit longer. One kiss led to a thousand lies, a thousand times telling their wives, “I know, I’m sorry, there’s just this project that is taking more time than we expected…” 

It wasn’t fair to anyone. 

Link was a coward and when Rhett decided it was time to tell his wife he balked. He dug his heels in and he told Rhett he was crazy; nothing good could come from telling the truth. The word _affair_ felt horribly, painfully wrong on Link’s tongue when Rhett made him say it. It was not an affair. Affairs were something else entirely. How could something so good, so easy be weighed down by such an ugly word? Still, Rhett told him they were doing wrong by Christy and by Jessie, by their children, and when he tried to confess to it all Link pinned him by the shoulders to his bedroom door. Link had never seen Rhett angrier than he was then, struggling against Link’s hands, gorgeous face twisted up into something far from the face Link knew better than any other. 

“Let me go, Link,” he said, venom in the way he said Link’s name. Rhett never spoke with vitriol in his voice, not ever. But he did then, his eyes all over Link’s mouth, his hands shaky as he tried his best to push Link away. 

“You can’t tell her,” Link said. “Please.”

“What’s your plan, Link?” Rhett asked. “This isn’t sustainable. We can’t do this forever. What exactly is your _plan_? Hide and sneak and lie until the day we die?” 

“No,” Link said, desperate, pleading. “No. But not today. Please, not today. Not this week. We’ll tell them. We will. But I need…I want…we haven’t had enough…”

“We had all the time in the world, Link,” Rhett said, cold, always guessing what Link was going to say before he said it. “We had our entire lives. And we didn’t do anything about it. What gives us the right to ruin everything now?”

“Is that what we’re doing?” Link asked, Rhett’s shoulders rigid and inflexible under his hands. Rhett’s skin was hot and his eyes cold and Link’s voice betrayed him, cracking on the uptick of his question. “Is that really what we’re doing? Ruining everything?” 

Rhett’s answer came quick. “Yes,” he said. “What do you think we’re doing?”

It was easy to tell the truth, for the first time since everything began. “I thought we were finally getting it right.” 

(Link really, really hated being wrong about some things.)

For the first time in more than thirty years Rhett and Link fell apart instead of coming together. For the first time in more than thirty years they were no longer _RhettandLink_ ; they became two separate names on two separate bundles of paperwork. They became, “I, Charles Lincoln Neal III,” and, “I, Rhett James McLaughlin,” and seeing the separation in black and white like that made Link’s stomach hurt. And for the first time in more than thirty years they said goodbye instead of _see you later_. Link opened his mouth to say he was sorry for beginning the end, for being scared, for being a lousy excuse for a best friend. He changed his mind and shut his mouth fast enough for his teeth to click together and didn’t say any of the things he should have. And that was how they left it. A thousand things left unsaid and a chasm of painful, needless things between them. Things that should never have happened (kisses and touches and mouths searching places they should never be) and all the wrongs they had done. That was how they left it. 

And it wasn’t fair to anyone.

Now, autumn easing a miniscule amount of summer heat from the dry Los Angeles air, it’s been a year since Rhett and Link have spoken. At first Link was sure; he had never been surer of anything. Rhett was going to call him, Rhett was going to miss him, and Rhett was going to love him again. But a month passed, and then two, and then Christmas came and went and they always went home together, Rhett and Link did, home to North Carolina. But last winter Rhett went home and Link went home but they took separate planes at separate times and spent the holidays apart. Link made up a story, said, “We argued a lot about this big, stupid project and need this time away from each other,” and no one believed him but he appreciated his family’s lack of questions. Because it wasn’t just the fans who were desperate to know, who were broken hearted, who were in disbelief that thirty years of the most solid foundation could crumble. There was nothing Link could share with them and so he said nothing at all. It was easier than telling the truth. And it broke his heart, the pieces that were left, that he couldn’t even be honest with his wife. Maybe, once the fighting was over and the dust settled, Rhett told Jessie what they had done. Link was never going to be that good. He was never going to tell Christy what happened, not as long as he lived. 

She knew something was horribly, terribly wrong but she was far kinder than Link deserved. She never pried and she never asked for anything Link did not volunteer. He told her he and Rhett needed a break, that was all, some time apart to get a new perspective. And _time apart_ turned to, “I think the show has run its course, that’s all, and don’t look at me like you think I’m lying. The show has run its course and we’re going to be fine.” And all the lies and all the half-truths turned into, “It’s not running away, Christy, it’s learning how to be a person without him. And don’t look at me like you think I’m lying. I don’t run away.”

She was smarter than he pretended and she knew there was no coming back from whatever he had done. Maybe she knew, deep down, what all the long, late nights and all the midnight phone calls meant. Maybe Link did not give his wife half the credit she deserved; how could it be possible she didn’t see Link’s despondence for exactly what it was? Rhett broke his heart and then Link broke everything. There could not possibly be one person on Earth who didn’t see it. The hole in Link’s chest felt big enough for every set of eyes that landed on him to see, a gaping wound nothing could fill. Whether Link did the right thing and spoke up or not, Christy _had_ to know. 

She never told him, though.

She followed him across town like she followed him across the country, packing up their things in two quiet afternoons, her hands steady and her head down. She wrapped their glasses and their china in newspaper, blinking owlishly but not making a sound when she dropped and shattered a plate in the kitchen. Link watched her sweep up the pieces and he thought he might have broken her, too. 

(If he was going to be the worst man on Earth, he might as well commit to it.)

He was the worst friend, the worst husband, the worst father. The worst provider, the worst protector, the worst thing that was supposed to be the best. That Christy stayed with him was a miracle; that she still loved him was more than he deserved. But she stayed and the kids stayed but at the core everything about Link’s life had changed. He didn’t have his other half. He didn’t have half his brain, half his heart, half of his lousy, beat-up soul. Rhett kept those things and he was never going to give them back. And it was just what Link deserved. 

On a bright September morning Link stands in the kitchen of the house that still feels new, even after long months spent trying to make it feel like a home. He nurses a hot mug of coffee between two shaky hands, staring out the window like there’s something out there he might not have seen before. There’s the bushes, trimmed neatly and bright green with the flush of summer. There’s the three steps up to get to the porch, wood painted a dainty robin’s egg blue Christy picked out. They painted it themselves, Link’s wife and him, and it makes the lump in his throat grow to unbearable size to dwell on it. It’s just not so easy to stop. He and Christy built a life together, that’s all, and to think Link almost lost all of it for a few frantic, messy kisses from someone else…it’s unfathomable. A shiver rolls through him as he stands close to the window in his underwear, drawing his mug to his lips despite the coffee being far too hot to drink. He tries anyway. 

He always tries anyway.

The kids are asleep and the house is quiet, quiet enough for Link to jump out of his skin when Christy comes up behind him and winds her arms around his middle. Coffee sloshes from his cup across his closed fist, burning the sensitive skin on the back of his hand, and Link curses out loud as he twists around in Christy’s arms. She balks just a little, loosening her grip, her chin tilted up to look into Link’s face. Concern blooms bright on her face, eyes widening, and she lets go of Link and has an ice pack from the freezer pressed to his hand before he has time to blink. 

“I’m sorry,” she says, Link’s hand clutched between both of hers. The offending mug of coffee hangs loosely in Link’s fist as he marvels at the difference in size between Christy’s slender fingers and the last hands that held Link’s like this. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” Link manages. “Don’t worry about it.” Somehow he’s able to place the mug on the kitchen counter and reach for a paper towel, dabbing at the coffee sticking hotly to his skin. He can feel Christy’s eyes on him but he does not look back at her. Eye contact is beyond him more often than not these days; all he can think when he looks at his wife is all the wrong he has done by her and all the wrong he has yet to do. Because this moment, here in the kitchen, this can’t be the end. There is more to the story, more than Link’s mind as far away from his wife as it is possible to be. There has to be more. Because Link will not accept this as the end. 

Christy watches him as he checks under the ice pack, Link grimacing at the sight of red, blistered skin. “Dang,” he says. “That’s not good,” he adds, as if his wife can’t see the damage. 

“Do you want me to fix that for you, Link?” she asks, voice impossibly soft. Impossibly small. 

“Yes,” Link tells her, and two minutes later he perches on the closed toilet seat in the bathroom as Christy plays doctor on the back of his hand. She has her tongue poked out between her teeth and a tube of Neosporin in one hand, dabbing the cool gel on Link’s hand and smoothing it down like she has down a thousand times before for a thousand different injuries. Something is different about this morning, though, and it would not take a man smarter and better than Link to see it. “Christy,” Link says, the name falling from him like he hasn’t said it in years. 

“Hmm?”

“What’s wrong?”

Christy’s brow furrows, long blonde hair slipping forward from behind her ear and covering up her face. She does nothing to fix it. Without a clear look into her face it’s almost easier for Link to press forward when she shrugs and does not reply. 

“Please tell me,” he says. He feels helpless and more than a little silly sitting here, his wife’s small hands all over his own as she tries to stick a Band-Aid to the tacky Neosporin. Again, Christy frowns and she says nothing. “You think I don’t know when somethin’s on your mind?” he asks. “C’mon, now. Tell me what’s wrong.” He tries to inject sweetness into his voice, something close to genuine care, and it comes out sounding all wrong. And Christy cringes at the sound. 

“Look, let’s talk about this later,” Christy says. She turns away to toss Band-Aid wrappers into the garbage can under the sink and with her shoulders hunched, her bathrobe hugging her small frame, she looks unfathomably fragile. 

“Let’s talk about this now,” Link counters anyway. He always counters anyway. 

“Link…” Christy says, world weary, shoulders slumping. Link presses her.

“Please,” he says. And her face changes. She sets her jaw hard, shoving her messy morning hair behind her ears again, keeping her hands pressed to her face. She slides them through her hair, mussing it up, bowing her head, looking up again. When she looks at Link she no longer looks tired and defeated. Her mouth is set hard like she’s finally, finally made up her mind about something. And Link knows what it is before she opens her mouth to speak. She’s been lonely, he knows that. She’s been sad, he knows that. But this isn’t loneliness in her face, nor sadness. This is resignation. “Christy, no,” he says, but she raises one hand and motions for him to stop. He does. 

“I know you love me so, so much,” she says. “I know that. And I know you love this family. And you would do anything for us. I’m not unaware of that. But Link, your heart hasn’t been mine for a long, long time.” 

He’s fighting back before he can convince himself not to try. He’s on his feet, towering over his wife, hands balled into fists. One of them aches and he ignores it, Christy’s eyes wide as she looks up at Link. “What are you talking about?” he barks. “Christy, what in the world are you _talking_ about?”

Unsurprisingly, the strongest, most stubborn woman in the world holds her ground against him. Her red painted fingernails make crescent moons in her palms as her hands slip into fists to mirror her husband’s. “I don’t know what happened,” she says. “But something did. Something with Rh…”

“Don’t bring him into this!” Link snaps. It hurts too much, it _burns_ , and Link will not let her say Rhett’s name. He himself has not said it in months. 

“It’s him, isn’t it?” Christy asks. “It’s always been him. God, Link, why didn’t you tell me? Why did you think lying was the best thing to do?”

“What did I lie about?” Link tries, floundering, well aware it’s hopeless. She has him sussed and she’s going to finally do right by herself and she is going to leave. And Link has to keep her here with him if it’s the last thing he does. 

“Link, don’t yell at me,” Christy says. “The kids will be up soon and I don’t want them to hear…”

“To hear you accusing me of something I didn’t do?” Link barks. He has never been a great actor. His voice wavers to a dangerous degree and gives him away. 

“To hear the reason why we’re getting a divorce,” she says, soft, and the world collapses around Link and swallows him whole. 

“Christy, you can’t be…” He goes for her, hands open, looking to touch, and she withdraws so fast her butt hits the bathroom sink. She still holds one hand up between them, one small hand telling him to stop. He does. 

“It’s the right thing to do,” she says. “Your heart is broken, Link. Do you think I don’t notice? Mine is, too. You think a day goes by where I don’t miss Jessie with all my heart? And Shepherd, and Locke? It was a lousy, selfish thing you did, Link, and I let you do it. I let you tear our children from their best friends and I let you tear me from mine. And for what? So you can pretend he never existed? That’s not sustainable, Link. Whatever you did to him, whatever you…”

“What I did to him!” Link shouts a little too loud, spinning on his heels so he has an excuse to look away from the determined expression shining on his wife’s face. “Really? What _I_ did to _him_?” 

“Whatever happened between the two of you, I can’t believe you thought your only choice was to throw it all away.” 

“You’re so freakin’ _wise_ , Christy,” Link snaps, and in the shocked silence that follows he regrets it. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean…”

“It’s okay,” Christy says like it might be the truth. “You were in love with him,” she says. “Weren’t you?” And Link thinks back to late nights, to candles and hotel rooms and laughter that made him dizzy. He thinks back to hiding out, to getting Rhett tipsy enough to reach back when Link reached for him. He thinks back to when it was good, to when he thought he could balance it all on the edge of a knife. And he swallows hard to fight the sob that threatens to shake him to the bone. 

“Yes,” he says. His determination to lie dissolves. And he never told Rhett the truth. Not once. 

Christy is quiet. 

Link is, too.

After a long, pregnant pause Christy surprises him. She engulfs him in her arms and squeezes him to her chest, hands in his unwashed hair. “I love you,” she breathes. 

“Love you, too,” he replies, voice husky, just like he has told her a million times before. But this time is different. This time marks one of the last times. And Link sinks into his wife’s embrace and tries his best to think of anything but losing everything. 

It’s just another thing at which he fails.

In the end the kids wake up looking for breakfast. Link promised them Saturday morning pancakes and he delivers, cooking with his wife at his side. Every time could be the last time, couldn’t it? This could be the last family pancake breakfast; this could be the last time Christy squeezes way too much syrup onto her plate and sops it up with her fingers, Link marveling at the glee on her pretty face. This could be the last time he clasps his hands on his kitchen table in his family’s kitchen and his daughter gasps out loud, demanding to tend to his wound.

“I took care of it, honey,” Christy says, and it could be the last time her eyes flick up to meet Link’s across the table they have shared for years. 

 

“Just let me, please,” Lilly presses, and this could be the last time Link promises his daughter a chance to doctor him up and take care of him the way she loves. This could be the last time Link pries the syrup from his youngest son and hands it to his oldest, telling the two of them they better behave. In a sea of lasts Link feels like he should be drowning, he should be burying his face in his hands and giving in. 

But he isn’t. 

The morning wears on and clouds roll in, threatening an early afternoon rain. Link’s life crumbling around him does not feel half as cataclysmic as he expected; in the aftermath of his wife’s embrace in the bathroom Link feels almost calm. There is going to be a storm but Link will be all right. He weathered the loss of a piece of himself before. Who says he can’t do it again? 

For the first time in longer than he can remember Link fights the almost insurmountable urge to call Rhett just to hear his voice. 

It was a terrible, selfish, awful thing he did, tearing two families apart. But it was even worse to let Rhett go. It was even worse to make Rhett think there was any part of him Link did not love wholly. Link did right by no one and he is only losing time, losing daylight and losing minutes and moments and months of his life. Link sits at the table with the family he is about to lose and all he can think about is the best friend he left behind. 

He is not done being terrible and selfish, it seems. He slips away after doing the dishes and drying them and putting them neatly back where they belong. He closes himself in his office, phone in both hands, shaking so hard his rolling chair creaks beneath him. Link has to face reality. He is going to get a divorce and he is going to set his wife free and for the first time in his life he is going to be totally, utterly alone. The realization is not as earth-shattering as he wants it to be, but is anything? Losing Rhett was as close as Link has gotten to watching the stars shake from their places in the sky. 

And this is his chance to try again.

Before he can change his mind, before he can do the things he always does and talk himself out of this, he dials Rhett’s number. In a rage, blinded by tears, Link deleted the number ten months ago. But he still knows it by heart. Of course he still knows it by heart; he knows all of Rhett by heart. Just like he knows Rhett will not answer the phone; Rhett will be stubborn and he will ignore Link as long as he can. But Link has something that needs to be said; something that cannot wait. Something he should have said months ago, years ago, the moment he knew for sure. 

The phone rings once, twice, three times, tucked in the crook between Link’s shoulder and his ear. It rings four times because Rhett is not going to answer him, not today, and when Rhett’s voicemail picks up Link folds himself up against the sound of his voice. It’s the same message, the same voice, the same man Link has needed all his life. It’s the same Rhett. Link’s best friend in the world. 

Rhett’s recorded voice, deep and just a little bit husky, asks Link to leave a message. And he does. 

“Rhett,” Link says. His voice quavers. His hands do, too, but he has something to say and he is going to say it no matter how messily it leaves his lips. “Hey. This is stupid.” He lowers the phone, almost gives up, thumb hovering over the red phone icon. But it’s a simple motion, pressing it back to his ear, and he sighs hard into the phone and kicks up static back into his own ear. “This is the stupidest thing I’ve ever done. But I’m losing everything, Rhett. Christy asked for a divorce today. It’s nothing I don’t deserve. But that’s not why I called.” He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, shoving his glasses up and dropping them back down. “I called because I love you,” he says. And he has said it countless times, in silly ways like, “I love you like a brother.” But never has he said it like this, with fire, with adoration, with careless, helpless pleading. “I love you,” he says again. “And I’m so, so sorry. No. No, I’m not. You should be sorry. But…okay. I am, too. Gosh, I’m making a mess of this.” Again he makes the motion to hang up the phone, to cut himself short, but again he presses the phone to his ear. 

“I don’t want you to forgive me,” Link says. “Hell, I don’t even know if I want you to listen to this. But I just had to say it. I love you, Rhett, and I can’t believe I never had the guts to say it before.” He lowers the phone. He bows his head. And he draws in a painful breath that rattles. “Look, the reason I called is…” He swallows hard. “I just want to see you,” he says. “I need to see you. You don’t have to like me. I’d deserve it if you hit me. Just please, please don’t say no. I need to see you more than I have ever needed anything before in my life. I need you in my life, Rhett, and I can’t believe I let you leave me alone for so long.” 

He sounds pathetic and broken even to himself and he sniffles hard before he can break. “I love you,” Link says, like the admission fixes anything. Like it might serve as a bandage over the months and years of hurt Link inflicted on Rhett and all the wounds Link left on him. It’s hopeless. But he tries anyway. “I love you,” he says again. “Please just…call me back. That’s all.” He pauses. “G’bye.” 

And he drops the phone into his lap, drawing in a deep breath, blinking fast to keep tears from hitting his cheeks. He spends a few minutes gathering himself, swiping tears from his face with the back of his uninjured hand, cursing his inability to be kind even to a lousy voicemail box version of the man he loves. Before he can go crazy with thoughts of all the things he should have said instead, his phone rings. Rhett’s number flashes on the screen. Without thinking, heedless, Link sounds painfully breathless as he answers the call. 

“Rhett,” he says.

“You are a piece of work, Link,” Rhett replies. His voice, despite the venom he injects into it, is the best thing Link has heard in months. The honey sound of the voice he loves more than any other is enough to shake ice from deep inside Link’s bones. 

“I know,” he replies. 

“You know,” Rhett scoffs. “That’s all you have to say for yourself?”

“I have a lot to say,” Link replies. “If you’ll sit with me to hear it.” For a beat Rhett is quiet and Link listens to him breathe on the other line. He could shatter his phone from the tightness of his fingers on it, knuckles white. Months of pain melt away, months of resentment and misery and missing his other half so much it became unbearable. With Rhett on the other line Link feels he might finally find a way to survive this.

“Name the place and I’ll be there,” Rhett says, and the crumbling of Link’s universe takes a pause. 

“You will?” Link asks.

“Always,” Rhett replies, and the world tumbles down anew.


	2. Knowing How it Ends

Link waits in a coffee shop with his hands encircling a lukewarm paper cup. He arrived far too early, scared out of his mind to hit traffic and wind up late. And now he sits alone, taking long sips from his coffee with his back to the door. It will be easier this way, he reasons, to not see Rhett coming. Surprise will take his ability to run from him. By the time he sees Rhett it will be too late to run. He knows himself, that’s all, and he knows it would be just like him to dive from his seat and crawl across the floor on his belly to hide from Rhett if it came to it. If he thought it was the only choice he had. Nursing a halfway decent cup of coffee Link thinks it just might be. 

The bell over the coffee shop door jingles and Link’s heart surges up into his throat. He stiffens, freezing like an animal staring down a car. He holds his breath. And a stranger enters the shop, a woman Link has never seen here before. She steps up to the counter and Link watches her talk animatedly with the barista, her hands going everywhere. She is heedless and Link envies her. He is painfully aware of every part of himself: his fingertips on the warm cup of coffee, his sneakers on the floor, his hair a mess and his face unshaven and his stupid, clumsy hands as shaky as always. It might be the coffee or it might be the nerves; whatever the reason, Link quakes in his booth and waits for the end to come one way or another. 

The end always comes no matter how good the start.

And Rhett was right; it _was_ good. It was so, so good, and they were so, so golden. There was nothing Rhett and Link could not do because they were always going to be together. There was not a single thing on Earth they could stand above them. They were best friends and then they were more, Link starting something that should never have been started. But Link didn’t know it then, how all of it was going to end. If he had, would he have started it at all? If someone told him the truth, that grabbing Rhett by the back of the neck from the passenger seat of Rhett’s car would cause him to lose everything, what would he have done differently? 

(Maybe the ecstasy of having Rhett writhing hot beneath him was worth losing it all.)

Link takes a long sip of his coffee and slumps in his seat, kicking his feet up onto the opposite side of his booth. There are too many people in here and Link feels exposed, as if anyone in here pays him any mind. Not one person looks his way but still he keeps his head down, fingers not so nimble as he picks pieces from his cup and piles them neatly on the table. It keeps his mind busy but not busy enough. The tinkling of bells sets his chest on fire and he sits up fast, sneakers slapping onto the tile floor. That has to be him. It has to be. Link simply cannot wait anymore. If the person at the door is not the only person Link wants to see he is going to rise, throw out the remainder of his coffee, slink home and pretend this never happened. He does not have it in him to do much of anything else. He hardly has enough resolve to stay seated. It takes everything Link has to stay perfectly still and wait to see whoever stands at the door. After a beat spent breathless the person begins to move. They begin to move towards Link. He keeps his shoulders hunched, wising he could disappear, a desperate humming at the back of his head that sounds like _stupid, stupid, stupid; this is the worst idea I have ever had_. But he stays. For once he can stay. 

“Link,” Rhett says before Link can see him. And hearing his voice so close, right here, is nothing like hearing it over the phone. Link swallows hard, sneakers slapping onto the floor, shoulders hunching like he can protect himself from what he has done, and he looks up. 

Rhett looks much the same as always. He has the same stormy eyes, the same dirty blond hair shoved artfully upwards. He has the same neatly trimmed beard, the same hands, the same ridiculous hooded sweatshirt with patterns in green and yellow and orange up the sleeves. He looks much the same as always but for the way he looks at Link. There is no warmth in Rhett’s eyes. There’s sadness, and there’s disappointment, and there’s something a little too close to revulsion, but there is no heat; there is only ice. Again Link swallows and wills himself not to flee from under the worst first glance he has ever received. 

“Rhett,” Link replies because he has nothing else to say. His neck aches already from staring into Rhett’s face, the familiar ache he has loved all his life. He has spent a lifetime craning his neck to look into Rhett’s face and though his bones creak in protest he would not have it any other way. 

Rhett slides into the booth across from Link without ordering anything. The gesture is not lost on Link. He does not intend to stay for long. The realization hits Link like a punch to the gut: Rhett has not forgiven him. Hell, Link has not forgiven Rhett, either. Rhett broke his heart and he has no right to pretend he is the only one with open wounds. Rhett kissed him back that night in his car and Rhett was reverent as he breathed against Link’s skin, “Why did it take us so long?” Rhett was just as culpable as Link in ruining what they worked so hard to build. Why is it that Link is the one who has to sit here now and take the brunt of a year of pent up anger? Why should he be the one to beg for forgiveness? Before Rhett so much as opens his mouth to speak Link bristles, ready to fight. And maybe that is his problem. Maybe he needs to take a rapid step back, to inhale and hold it in, to remember this is the man he has loved all his life. 

It is not half as easy as he wills it to be. 

“What exactly is it you want, Link?” Rhett asks, and Link deflates. He wants to say something barbed, something sharp to separate himself from how fast his heart races. He wants more than anything to say something mean and awful like, “I just wanted to be sure I still don’t miss you,” or, “I knew you would be stupid enough to still want me.” Terrible, twisted things shove forward in Link’s brain, asking to be let out, and he clamps his lips shut over them. He has never been good at keeping awful things he doesn’t mean from spilling out of him. But now, when it really matters, he tries. 

“Did you listen to my message?” he asks in the end, and something dark flashes in Rhett’s eyes. 

“Yeah,” he says. “Feels good to know you’re the same old Link.” His big hands are twisted up on top of the table, fingers tight laced, close enough to reach out and touch. But Link remembers the last time he tried to touch those hands. Rhett pulled them away and hid them from Link and he has not touched them since. He misses the slide of Rhett’s warm, heavy palms against his more than he thought he could ever miss anything. It’s a physical ache in Link’s chest, something awful and hot, and it’s all he can do to keep his hands to himself. And that was his problem in the first place, wasn’t it? He waited too long; he waited thirty years. And by the time he gave in and gave Rhett a kiss to make up for all the kisses they missed, it was too late. All they were going to do from that point onward was ruin one another. 

But God, how good it was when it was good. 

It started after a long day of filming. They bickered all day as they smiled for the camera, both of them tired and more than a little lost. It had been hard going all day, that was all, and the fault was Link’s. Rhett was tired but Rhett was patient still; Link was frustrated and nothing was working the way he wanted. Rhett had touched him, one small squeeze of Link’s shoulder, and Link was a goner. It was stupid and ridiculous but the night before Link had had a dream that shook him to the bone. In it Rhett was warm; in in Rhett was hot hands and hot lips and Link had woken up with a racing heart beside his wife. It was too much and Link was scared (he should have taken a sick day, he should have made up an excuse) but it was only a dream. It was only a tinge, a twitch, the tiniest change in temperature. 

(Wasn’t it?)

Link had a headache burning hotly right between his eyes and the studio lights did nothing to help ease it away. More than once Link snapped at Rhett on camera and Rhett’s eyes flicked to the monitor, to the crew, reminding Link of where he was. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, giving his head a shake like the motion might clear it. “’M just not happy with how this is turning out.” It was only half a lie; there were so many terrible things churning in his overstuffed head that he could never say. From behind the camera Stevie frowned, her blonde hair a curtain over both ears.

“Need to take five?” she asked, voice singsong. He nodded instead of replying and he was out of his seat before Rhett could take a breath and speak up. He just needed a minute to himself. That was all. Link shoved his hands deep in the pockets of his jeans and kept his head down, determined to get out of the studio and out into fresh air before he screamed. It had not been the easiest day. Link kept stammering over everything he tried to say, losing time as he tripped over his own clumsy tongue. Rhett laughed every time, a low, rumbling laugh that made Link’s hair stand up on end. He loved that laugh. He _loved_ it. But something was different that day; something had shifted and it did so quickly enough to make Link nauseous as he shifted with it. Link’s stomach twisted itself into painful knots as he all but ran from the studio with his head bowed. Rhett followed him because Rhett always followed him and by the time Link slammed his way out of the building and into the sun Rhett was on his heels.

“Hey!” he called. “Hey, where are you going?” Link ignored him. Link had no idea what to say. He did not much want to look Rhett in the eye; he had the feeling if he tried he might erupt. Something terrible had changed, something Link could not share with Rhett, and the inability to let Rhett in made Link’s heart hurt more than his pounding head. “Link, come on!” Rhett’s hand came down on Link’s shoulder, impossibly heavy, and Link froze in the alley behind the studio. “What is it?” Rhett asked. “What can I do to help?” And that was so typical of Rhett, wanting to fix before he even knew what was broken. Link hardly knew himself; all he knew was he wanted Rhett’s hand off his shoulder. 

“Can’t I just get a minute alone, Rhett?” Link asked. 

“Look at me,” Rhett replied. Link obeyed, twisting out from under Rhett’s hand to face him. Immediately he wished he hadn’t. Rhett’s face was far too open, his eyes wide as concern lit them on fire. Link had seen that face before: when he hurt himself, when his shoulder was acting up and Rhett could do nothing to make it better, when long days caused him to fall asleep on his desk and Rhett had to shake him awake. There were a million kinds of hurt that Rhett’s gaze had fixed but the hurt in Link’s chest was never going to be one of them. “Hey,” Rhett said, face impossibly soft as he looked down at Link.

“Hey,” Link replied. He crossed his arms over his chest and hugged himself, closing himself off. It was a mean thing to do but it was all he could think: he had to protect himself from everything he felt. 

(It was wrong. It was so, so wrong, and Rhett would never forgive him if he told Rhett the truth. Something had changed and Link was going to drown in it if it meant he never had to confess.)

“Let me help you,” Rhett said. Just like he always said. 

“You can’t,” Link replied. 

“Why not?”

“Look, it’s nothing to do with you,” Link lied. “Just give me a minute and let me be. I’ll come back in in a minute. Okay? Please.” His voice wavered and he hated himself for it, for his inability to lie smoothly. Rhett saw right through him. But instead of doing what Link would do, instead of growing frustrated and giving up and throwing his hands in the air, Rhett smiled. He smiled the way he always did, the apples of his cheeks going round as his mouth twitched up. It was the same smile on the same Rhett but something shifted in Link’s gut that felt like swallowing fire. 

“Hey,” Rhett said. “Whaddya say we call it a day and go somewhere, just you and me?” 

“We have too much to do…”

“Link.”

“No, man, we hardly got anything done and…”

“Link.”

“We don’t have time to…”

“Link!” Rhett raised his voice for the first time that day and finally Link went quiet. “Link. Let me take you out. You need a break. Do you really think I can’t tell when you’re in over your head, man?” Rhett’s smile was almost irresistible, and it was an impossible weight for Link to bear. So he bent beneath it.

“Fine,” he grunted. “Let’s go.” Ten minutes later they were in Rhett’s car, flying down the highway with the windows down. Link held one hand out the window, dancing his fingertips like a soaring bird, doing everything he could to keep from looking at Rhett. For his part Rhett did not speak to him. All he did was drive. Link had not bothered to ask where they were going; he trusted Rhett more than he trusted himself at the moment. He hated the heat churning in his stomach and more than that he hated himself for the desire to give in to it, to reach across the center console and reach for Rhett’s denim clad thigh. He had never fought feelings like this before, never in thirty long years of walking his life at Rhett’s side. But sitting in Rhett’s car, the Los Angeles sunset searing his skin, Link wanted nothing more than to scream across the sea all the things he thought Rhett ought to know. It had been burning deep inside Link for so long it hurt, the shift in the way he saw Rhett and the way he wanted to. The car was full of sunlight and Link could picture exactly without seeing the way the light bounced beautifully off the goldenrod in Rhett’s hair. 

Rhett drove to the beach and Link was not surprised; Rhett always drove to the beach when he wanted a quiet place to think. He parked the car and Link opened the door before Rhett could cut the engine, up and running the first moment he got a chance. Rhett followed him all the way to the sea. Link kicked off his sneakers and rolled up the cuffs of his jeans and at his side Rhett did the same. They waded into the waves, saltwater licking up to Link’s knees. Without asking the reason why Rhett followed Link straight into the rolling waves. Once the water began to lap at Link’s jeans he stopped, Rhett’s right hand inches from his hip. It would have been easy for Link to take a step to the side and let Rhett touch him. But he didn’t. 

They stood in silence as the sun set before them, glorious in shades of gold and orange. The motion of the sea shoved Link further from and closer to Rhett and back again, the two of them swaying in tandem. Link let himself be swayed. He was grateful for his sunglasses, the big green ones Rhett made fun of endlessly, for hiding his eyes. Rhett said nothing and Link was glad; he thought he could explode with all the things he wanted to say. 

The sun set like it always did and Link began to shiver, the sea unforgiving on his skin. He let his fingertips trail in the saltwater, salt sticking to his skin, and he felt Rhett look at him before he looked up to find it true. 

“What?” Link asked. Rhett’s eyes sparkled and Rhett said nothing. He cocked his head, that was all, and he led Link back to shore. They walked barefoot back to their car, carrying their sneakers and socks. The sand was no longer warmed by the sun and Link kept on shivering as he slid into the passenger seat of Rhett’s car. Rhett rolled up the windows and turned on the heat, Link sliding his feet far under the dashboard to get as close to it as he could. And in silence Rhett began again to drive. He headed towards home, towards Link’s home, and Link wanted to cry out that he was not ready for the night to end. He was not ready to greet his family and say goodbye to Rhett; he was not ready to lose the moment he held in both hands. But for once Link managed to hold his tongue. He did not plead with Rhett to drive slower, to stop, to retreat back to the beach where they could stand in the waves forever. 

Rhett heard it all anyhow. 

He pulled into an empty parking lot, overgrown with weeds, an abandoned gas station standing timeless under the night sky. There was no one around except for Rhett and except for Link and after a moment Rhett turned off the car. The headlights cut out, plunging the lot into complete darkness. And Rhett turned to Link with a question on his tongue. “What is it?” he asked. “What’s been eating you all day?” 

“Nothing,” Link said, a little too immediate.

“Tell me.”

“I just have a lot on my mind, man, you have to understand that. There’s so much to do and you dragged me out of work early and now all I’m thinkin’ is how I’m gonna have to go in early tomorrow to make up for it.” Link rambled and raved because silence meant guilt. Silence meant confession it all. And he simply was not ready. That night was not the night to risk losing it all. “I’m thinkin’ about all the stuff we have left to film for next week and there’s this thing my kids have after school in a few days…I can’t even remember _what_ day. I promised Christy I would be home in time for this thing she has to be at on Wednesday and…” 

“You’re so full of it,” Rhett said, and Link stammered himself into silence. “What’s really on your mind? I can sit here all night and wait for you to tell me the truth, brother. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.” And that was the trouble. Because Link felt the same. He would not rather be with his wife, with his family, at his home. He would not rather be anywhere else but in the car with Rhett under a barren sky, the stars erased by the bright lights of Los Angeles. How could he tell Rhett that? 

“Rhett,” Link said, simple. 

“Link,” Rhett replied. 

“Take me home.” And then, “Please.” 

“I will,” Rhett said. “As soon as you let me fix what’s wrong.”

“Nothing’s wrong.”

“Okay,” Rhett said. “As soon as you tell me what’s on your mind, then.” His eyes burned all over Link’s face and he sunk lower in his seat, shaking his head. 

“I can’t.” To admit the change would be to ruin everything; to tell Rhett the way he felt would be to destroy them. There was no way to tell Rhett that and make him understand. 

“Look at me, willya?” Link shook his head. “Look at me.” The second time Rhett made the command Link listened. He looked at Rhett, at his face in the dark lot, his eyes in shadow. All Link could see was the sharp angle of his nose and the softer edges of his jaw. “Link, there can’t be anything in the world you can’t share with me. Whatever it is, I want to help. I want you to let me in. When have you ever kept anything from me? It hurts, man. You’ve been distant for weeks. Have you even noticed the way you’ve been acting? Because everyone else sure has. You’ve been shying away from me and snapping and closing yourself off. Why are you doing that, Link? You don’t…you don’t want this to end, do you?” The utter despair in his voice was enough to make Link snap his head back up from having dropped it to his chest, chin on his sternum. He looked back at Rhett, fear all over Rhett’s face, and he backpedaled as fast as he could.

“What?” he cried. “God, Rhett, what are you talking about? I don’t want to end anything! No, no, God, no, you’re crazy if you think…”

“Then why are you acting like this?” Rhett asked, and it was a simple enough question. But the answer was nothing simple at all. It was not there and then it was, the urge to love Rhett in a way he never had before. The urge to take Rhett’s face in his hands overwhelmed Link; the urge to touch him and pull him close was even worse. For weeks he battled with it, sure it was a fluke, sure it would dissipate. But weeks went by like they always did and with every passing day Link only wanted it more. He only wanted Rhett more. He loved his wife; he loved her more than he loved anyone in the world. But did he love her more than he loved Rhett? He tried to tell himself he did, of course he did, and the two types of love were too vastly different to compare. But they were and then they were not. He wanted to love Rhett like he loved his wife; he wanted to hold Rhett like he held his wife. And it was horrifying, and it was huge, and Rhett looked at Link with big eyes and Link did all he could do. He surged across the center console of Rhett’s car and he planted his lips on Rhett’s. 

Rhett’s response was immediate, just like everything else about him. His hand cupped Link’s face, so gentle Link could have cried, and he kissed Link back. He kissed him back and he cursed them with the pressing of his lips. They pulled apart but Link was unprepared to face the consequences of what he had done. The moment Rhett’s lips left his Link dove in again, one hand tight on the back of Rhett’s neck. The second time Rhett groaned, a low, desperate thing, and Link felt horror in the fact that Rhett might have wanted this just as badly as Link did. He kissed Rhett, soft and slow, and how in the world could there have been so many words in a kiss so small?

Rhett kissed him back and Link heard every word. 

Now, in the coffee shop miles away from the moment that ended everything, bent over a cup of coffee, Link asks Rhett what exactly he means by, “the same old Link.” Rhett pauses, eyes firmly on Link’s, and he says, “You are so sure that _I’m_ the one who’s s’posed to be apologizing to _you_.” He gives Link a bemused, battered sort of smile, a smile that stays far away from his eyes. “And that’s okay. I _am_ sorry. I’ve never been sorrier in my whole life. But what were you thinking, Link? That one pseudo-date in a coffee shop was going to fix anything?”

“This isn’t a…” Link begins, searching the room as if anyone might be listening, cheeks burning. Rhett holds up one large hand and Link shuts his mouth.

“I know, I know,” Rhett says. “Trust me. I know.” The bitterness in his voice is unmistakable. “Just tell me what you came here to tell me. Give your speech. Go on, then.” He waves his hand, prodding Link along, and he drops it with a thunk to the table. Link winces at the sound and lets his eyes wander to Rhett’s hand, his wedding band shining under the florescent lights of the coffee shop. It makes Link’s heart hurt to look at even more than it hurts to look Rhett in the face. Given two choices that make Link feel sick he opts to look into Rhett’s eyes. “You have a speech planned, dontcha?” Rhett asks. “You always have somethin’ planned. Tell me, then. I want to hear it. After all this time I think I deserve the best damn speech you’ve got.” 

And maybe Link planned this all out. Maybe he spoke in front of the mirror when his family was out for the day. Maybe he plotted this meeting out to the letter, desperate to get every word out before Rhett left him alone again. But maybe he should have known Rhett is not one to follow along with the best laid of Link’s plans. He should have known Rhett would tear it all to shreds. So he dismantles it all, the admission of guilt and the pleading for forgiveness. He tears it apart from where it sits in the corner of his mind, tearing into the apology and the reminder that they loved each other once and they can do it all again if they try. He does not say any of it. Instead he bows his head, exposing the nape of his neck to Rhett, his forehead hitting the table. Rhett does nothing to keep him from sitting like this forever, his neck and shoulder sore and his knees trembling. 

“You’re right,” Link admits to the table. 

“Speak up,” Rhett says, and Link lifts his head. He props his chin on both hands, flicking his eyes up to look at Rhett. Rhett watches him, patient, calm, waiting for Link to gather himself and spill his guts across the table. 

“You’re right,” Link says again. “I did have it all planned out.” Rhett does not look pleased as he nods, one eyebrow cocked up.

“I know you did,” he says. 

“I’m sorry,” Link says.

“I know you are,” Rhett replies.

“I’ve thought about you every day since the day I last saw you.”

“I know,” Rhett says.

“How d’ya know?”

“’Cause I’ve thought of you, too. Every damn day.”

Link swallows hard. “I love you,” he says, heedless and reckless for a moment, damn whoever can hear. For the first time since sitting down Rhett looks anything but perfectly, casually composed. Terror crosses his face, eyes widening a fraction, lips parting. And Link has him. 

“You love me,” Rhett says, voice flat, and Link is not so sure. (He had Rhett once, didn’t he?)

“Yeah,” Link replies. “Yeah, I love you.” He shrugs. Simple. It should be simple, anyway; it used to be simple. Link loved Rhett and Rhett loved Link and it was a different kind of love from any other. It was deep and sweet and quiet, something they could reach in and touch, something they did not have to speak to be sure it was real. Link was the one who complicated it and Link is the one who has to untangle it now. 

“Why…” Rhett begins, unfolding and refolding his hands. He unfolds them again, fingers tapping at the table, brow furrowed as he stumbles over his words. “Why, back then, when we…when we were…why didn’t you tell me then?”

“I was scared.”

“I was, too, Link.”

“Did you tell Jessie?” Rhett’s expression darkens.

“No.”

“Good.”

“Is it?” Rhett asks. “Did you…?”

“No.”

“Good.”

“How are the kids?” Link asks.

“They’re good,” Rhett replies. “They’re really, really good. How about…?”

“They’re good.”

“If you didn’t tell the truth, then why…?”

“Why is she leaving me?”

“Yes,” Rhett breathes.

“She said my heart is broken,” Link says, sure it’s more than his heart. “And she guessed, Rhett. It wouldn’t take a genius.” Rhett winces.

“Jessie, too,” he says. “I didn’t tell her what we…why we…when…” He swallows. “But you’re right. She knows we wouldn’t abandon the show for nothing. I made something up and we moved on and…” Rhett shrugs, cutting his own thought short. Link asks him to finish it. “I told her it was my fault,” he says, gruff. “That I…that I developed feelings for you and that…” Rhett gives his head a sad little shake that shakes Link to the core. “That it wasn’t mutual. That you didn’t want to hurt me and so…you left. That’s what I told her. And at first…you never would have believed it, Link, the _disgust_ in her face. But she said she understood, in the end, and she asked me if I was still in love with…” Rhett pauses. “Anyway, I said no. And like I said, we moved on. I pulled myself together and I moved on. And to have you call me, looking for nothing but validation that you were in the right…I can’t even tell you how that feels. Because I know you, Link. You can apologize all you want. You don’t mean it. You just think you can take and take and never stop and look back at who you’re hurting.”

Each word Rhett slings at Link stings like the point of a knife. Link sits still under Rhett’s gaze and takes it all. 

“You can say you love me now,” Rhett says. “Say it all you want. But it doesn’t make it better, what you did. It doesn’t make anything better to finally tell me the truth now. Did you think it would?”

Maybe he did. Or maybe he knew it would end up like this, Rhett looking at him with fury mounting in his face. 

“I’ve heard you out,” Rhett says. “Or is there something I’m missing? Is there something else you wanna say?”

There are a million and a half things Link wants to say. He wants to plead with Rhett not to leave, to stay here and to talk until the sun goes down about all the moments they have missed. He wants to stop saying _I love you_ and try saying the exponentially bigger _I’m in love with you_. He wants to tell Rhett he is never going to forgive himself for kissing Rhett that night but more than that he wants to tell Rhett he wouldn’t take that moment back for all the moments in the world. 

Instead of swallowing his pride and instead of doing what he should, Link lets himself grow angry. Anger protects him, a barrier going up between him and Rhett, and anger keeps him safe. 

“There’s nothing else,” Link says, each word a punch. “What else could there be? You’re right, man. I’m an ass. I’m the worst. Whaddya want me to say?” Rhett’s eyes narrow.

“I want you to say something real,” he says. “’S that too much to ask? For once, Link, can’t you just say something real?”

The turn the uneasy conversation has taken is too much for Link. He needs to get out from under Rhett’s eyes and he needs to get out now. 

“Guess not,” Link replies, and Rhett follows him with his eyes as he rises. This was the worst idea Link has ever had. Did he really think Rhett would forgive him so easy? Did he really think they were going to make up and clasp hands and go back to the way things were before Link dismantled their friendship brick by brick? It was stupid to come here and it was even stupider to let himself get his hopes up. Rhett is never going to forgive him, not as long as he lives. And there is nothing Link can do to get his best friend back. “Sorry I wasted your time,” Link says. Rhett watches his hand as he scoops his coffee cup off the table. “Guess this is goodbye.”

“Thought we already had one of those,” Rhett replies, deadpan. 

“We did.” (But this one has to be the last one. Link’s heart simply cannot take another.) Rhett looks up at Link and then he looks away. Link takes his chance to turn and run the other way. But a hand closes over his wrist, a big, warm hand, and he looks back to find Rhett looking at him, jaw set hard. 

“You know where to find me, Link,” he says, “whenever the hell you grow up and learn to take responsibility for everything you did.”

Link pauses with Rhett’s hand hot on his skin. And just like every other time before this, the worst possible thing slips from him. “Screw you, too, man,” he says, and he jerks his arm from Rhett’s grasp.

This time Rhett lets him go.


	3. Never Mean Quite What I Say

Link spends the next few weeks forgetting the meeting at the coffee shop ever happened. He had a chance that he gave up and he is not going to go to Rhett again. He knew the moment he stood up to run: one more goodbye would kill him. So Link slips back into the life he has been living all year, the life he struggles to keep in the aftermath of the only man who still carries a piece of his heart. To Christy’s credit she holds the family together far better than Link could as he fights to keep himself in one piece. They have yet to tell the kids. They have yet to tell anyone. Link still sleeps in the same bed as his wife, their backs to one another, Christy scooting away if Link gets too close in his sleep. One night she starts to speak, garbling something about needing the right kind of turtle for the garden in her sleep, and Link loves her. 

(Rhett sleeps in silence and Link always missed her soft mutterings when he found himself tangled up in Rhett’s bed. That has to mean something. Doesn’t it?)

Link loves her and more than that he loves his family. He is desperate to keep it. Before he can stop himself Link shakes his wife awake, jerking her out of whatever pleasant dreams she is having. He’s sorry for that like he is sorry for everything else but Christy rolls over to face Link, her eyes glowing in the moonlight streaming silver through the bedroom window. 

“Link?” she asks, concern in her voice. “Wha…wha’s wrong?” Her voice thick with her sleep and her long eyelashes catching light, Link loves her. He loves her so, so much, his heart heavy with it. 

“You were talkin’ in your sleep,” Link whispers, and Christy does not cringe away as Link reaches out to brush a lock of hair from her forehead. 

“What was I saying this time?” she mumbles. Already her eyes start to close, sleep taking her away from Link, and he presses one hand to her face to keep her here with him. 

“Nothin’, really,” he says. And then, “I love you.” Christy’s brow furrows, mouth turning down, but in the end she nods. 

“I love you, too, Link,” she says. 

“Please don’t give up on me,” Link asks of her. 

“Link, it’s the middle of the…”

“Tell me what I have to do and I’ll do it,” Link says. “I can’t lose you, Christy. Please.” He feels as pathetic as he sounds, Christy squirming under the hand Link has on her cheek. 

“Can we talk about this in the morning?” Christy groans. In reply Link strokes at her cheek with his thumb, back and forth across her cheekbone. It’s a gesture she likes, Christy’s eyes closing as she nuzzles into the touch, and Link feels better about his chances. He can fix this. Sure, he can. Who says his marriage is in pieces, anyway? He’s still here, isn’t he, pressed flush against his wife? As long as he is here and Christy is here there has to be hope. Here and now, in the middle of the night, hope is all Link has. But Christy remembers where she is because she always remembers, in the middle of simple things like grocery shopping or paying bills. It dawns on her, the realization that the façade they have put up over the past few weeks is only that. And once she remembers she closes herself off. “Go to sleep, Link,” Christy says, and Link’s hand drops back to the mattress as she rolls over, her back to him. 

He watches her breathe until she falls asleep. 

(There has to be more for Link than this.) 

He finds himself slipping out of bed at three in the morning and slipping into his shoes. He leaves them untied, the laces flapping, and he grabs his car keys on the way out the door. Outside the air is warm, heavy with the sound of crickets. Link plods across the driveway, head down like the neighbors might see poor Link fleeing his wife in the middle of the night. It’s unlikely anyone knows inside his house his marriage crumbles, but the vulnerability of being visible like this makes Link’s skin crawl. He gets in the car and starts the engine, wrestling with the seatbelt when he snags it in his haste. There is no reason why a twisted seatbelt should make him cry but Link finds frustrated tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. How did a life so carefully crafted go so wrong? How the hell did everything fall apart so quickly, faster than Link could grab it and try to save it? 

In the end Link gets his seatbelt untangled and he makes the drive down to the shore. He knows where he’s going before he gets there; he heads to the beach from the day he started it all. Rhett makes his way there when he needs to think. Why can’t Link? Maybe seeing the beach looking much the same will clear Link’s head, the steadfast sea unchanged by everything Link has undone. If the sea and the tides shifting under the moon can survive this…why can’t Link?

He finds the way easily enough, only getting lost and pulling a U-turn once, and the dashboard clock in his car reads 3:21 as he pulls into the barren, sandy parking lot. The lot is closed and so is the beach but there is no one here to tell him to leave. But as Link parks the car his side mirror reflects a pair of headlights illuminated on the far side of the lot. The moment he sees the other car the headlights go out, leaving twin pinpricks of white light across Link’s vision. As it clears, Link blinking fast, his heart plunges into his stomach. 

“ _Shit_ ,” he hisses. “Shit, shit.” To punctuate the curse he punches at his steering wheel, earning nothing for his anger but a sore set of knuckles. The only other car in the lot, the only other person awake to sit and stare at the sea, is Rhett. And of course he is here. He is _always_ here, wherever Link is, claiming Los Angeles like he owns it. But Link is not going to shy away. He is not going to give Rhett the satisfaction. He cuts the engine and rips the keys from the ignition, tossing them over his shoulder to take from himself the ability to make a quick exit. They clack noisily to the floor, Link’s collection of keychains and house keys, and he locks his eyes on his driver’s side mirror. Rhett’s car sits in shadow on the opposite end of the lot. There’s too much space between them to tell if Rhett is sitting in it or if he’s on the beach, feet planted in the sea. 

It was so long ago it gets hard to remember, the day Link stood side by side with Rhett in the Pacific with no idea what he was going to do. It wasn’t long before the end. It was March, the first time Rhett and Link kissed. It was unseasonably warm, warm enough to step heedless into the sea. And back to the same place, Link has his phone in both hands in his lap as he struggles to unlock it with shaky fingers. There’s a picture in his phone, one he snapped after Rhett dropped him off at home that night. He walked to his front door and then he doubled back, stopping Rhett as he made to pull out of Link’s driveway. Link was lightheaded from the kiss, from all the kisses, and he leaned heavy on Rhett’s car as he asked for Rhett to wait. 

“Wassup?” Rhett asked, perplexed, one arm dangling over the open window, smiling like he hardly dared to risk it. Link felt much the same. 

“I just wanna be sure,” Link said, opening up his camera and holding his phone close to Rhett’s face, “that you’re still the same Rhett. Smile.” He barely gave Rhett a chance to react. Link was always a sucker for more candid shots. But Rhett was beatific, beaming, and Link was sure. He was the same Rhett he grew up with, the same Rhett who always held him and helped him and loved him. How could anything bad come of what they did if he was the same Link and Rhett was the same Rhett? They loved each other far too much for something terrible to come of kissing one another. Didn’t they? 

“Whaddya think?” Rhett asked. “’M I still the same Rhett?”

“Yes,” Link told him. And he kept the picture in his phone; he kept it all year. Rhett was always a pretty picture, a smile on his lips, and Link snuck glances at the picture in the moments he could not be close enough to the real thing. When his wife needed him, when he needed to be a father more than he needed to be Link of Rhett and Link. He kept the picture. Of course he did. And when things got bad, when he broke it off and when he fled, he kept it. What else could he do? Now, in the parking lot of the beach, Link finds it. He pauses, bright, glowing version of Rhett on his screen. How did something so beautiful ever belong to Link? How did he manage so long to keep something so good? Link hates this, the vast emptiness of not having. He hates this, the emptiness of wanting and never getting. He hovers one thumb over his screen, lip between his teeth. And he deletes the picture. Rhett’s smile vanishes from his screen and he feels better for it. He feels safer where Rhett can’t touch him.

But Rhett is close and Link is going to sit here and wait forever, pretending he can’t see. Hell if he is going to give Rhett this sacred place. Hell if he is going to give Rhett any more pieces of his heart. There is not much more he can give. 

Link throws his phone into the passenger seat and buries his face in both hands. For a moment he lets despair burn hotly behind his eyes, but the moment is fleeting. He is better than this. He’s stronger than this, than sitting in a parking lot in the middle of the night with tears in his eyes. Isn’t he? He thought he could conquer the world once, back when things were good. Back when he was more than just Link (husband, father, son, friend, lover) and was ruler of his own world, at least. He really thought, in those months where he had his family and then he had Rhett, that he could carry it all. How could he have been so stupid as to think all of it was his to keep?

A sharp rap of knuckles startles Link out of his reverie and he jumps, smacking his head on the window of his car. On the other side of the glass, hand poised to knock again, is Rhett. Link rubs at the sore spot on his temple as Rhett drops his hand, face somber. It’s not a good look on him, a serious face, and Link hates it. Even so he fumbles for the ignition to roll down the window. When he finds his keys missing he swears, throwing his seatbelt off and lunging over the seat to scramble in the back for them. _Stupid, stupid, stupid_ , he tells himself, fingers finding tissues, napkins, receipts, and not much else. “Son of a…” Link sighs, his ass in the air as he dives for the floor of his car. He is painfully aware of Rhett’s proximity but he lets Rhett look; the view is not one Rhett has never seen before. Finally Link closes his hand over his keys, deep under the backseat, and he shoves himself back in front of the steering wheel with his cheeks burning. It only takes a moment to roll down the window as the radio hums back into life, Rhett close enough to touch. But Link makes no move to do so. 

“Following me?” Rhett asks. He stands so damn close, his face lit up in orange from the lights over the parking lot. Why does he have to stand so _close_? 

“You wish,” Link snaps, embarrassed and tired and sore. He rolls his shoulder, his frantic scrambling under his seat causing the old pain to flare up, and Rhett smiles, wry. 

“Hurt yourself?” he asks. 

“Don’t act so concerned,” Link replies. 

“Don’t be an ass,” Rhett shoots back, immediate. 

“Well, stop starin’ at me, then.”

“’M not staring. I’m looking. Because we’re having a conversation, Link, and you look at the person you’re talkin’ to. At least, that’s what you’re _supposed_ to do.” His voice is curt, short, and Link forces himself to look Rhett in the face. 

“I’m _thinking_ , here, man,” Link says. “What do you want?” Rhett does not so much as give Link the courtesy of looking hurt at Link’s words. 

“Obviously we’re both here for a reason,” Rhett replies. He pauses, working his tongue between his teeth, and then, “Probably the same reason.” 

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” Link says, bitter, and Rhett stares right through him as he replies.

“I’ve been driving out here a lot lately,” he says. “And this is the first time you’ve shown up. It’s hard to sleep next to my wife,” he goes on, eyes burning a hole in Link, “when all I’m thinkin’ about is you.” And there it is: the admission. Link waits for smug satisfaction to roll over him but it doesn’t come. Instead he feels nothing but sad. _Sad_ is a small word for a big feeling, an all-encompassing wave of sorrow and fear and loss, but it’s the only word Link has. 

“I didn’t ask you to think of me,” Link says, and Rhett’s eyes slide down to his lips as he speaks. He always does that, look at Link’s lips like he has any right, and Link bristles. “You can stop anytime,” he says. Humorlessly, Rhett laughs.

“You’re such a jerk, Link,” he says. “You don’t have to be so _mean_ just to protect yourself. Don’t worry. You don’t have to protect yourself from me.” He leans on Link’s car, his elbow just inside the window, his eyes all over Link’s mouth. Rhett’s words tell an entirely different story than his eyes do: Link needs to draw back before Rhett devours him whole. He has always felt like this, like Rhett could consume him if Link let him. That the feeling has not dissipated a fraction after all this time is too much for Link. 

“Look, man, cantcha just let me be?” Link asks. “I was fine just sittin’ here until you came along. I don’t need you lookin’ at me like you know exactly what I’m thinking.” Link makes to roll up the window, to drive away, to flee, but Rhett has other plans for him. Rhett always has other plans for him. 

“The funny thing is,” Rhett says, “I do. You’re not half as mysterious as you think, Link. I can see right through you.” 

“Yeah?” Link snaps, looking everywhere but at Rhett. He throws his hands up, slapping them on the steering wheel, his wedding band clacking on the cool leather. “Like what you see?” Rhett’s reply is immediate and sharp.

“No,” he says. “Haven’t for a long time.”

“So why are you here?”

“Because you’re here and I’m here and I’ll be damned if I’m gonna let you slip away from me again.” Rhett’s voice wavers, just a bit, and the tremor is enough to cause a stir of panic in Link’s gut. If Rhett is scared Link ought to be terrified. That was how it always used to go. If Rhett was nervous Link was petrified, cataclysm shaking him to the bone. If Rhett is going to stand at Link’s window with a shimmy in his deep voice…Link is going to fall apart. “I shouldn’t have let you go,” Rhett says, and Link listens. “Even when you…even after…I should have made you stay. We could have fixed it, Link. We could have done something to make it work. But you had to go and run away and I let you. If I could change anything, it would be only that. The day you moved…I would have made you stay. Whatever it was you needed that day, whatever I could have done to change your mind, I would have done it. If you…God, Link. If you had asked me that day to leave everything for you, I would have. I would have left my family and I would have left my home. I’d’ve given up _everything_ for you. Did you not know that?” 

Link pauses, both hands on his steering wheel, his eyes on both hands. 

“I knew that,” he says, gruff. “B’cause I felt the same way.” Rhett’s breath hitches and Link loves him, the man who would have given every last piece of himself to keep Link in one piece. He loves him, the man who leans on Link’s car with his arms propped on the window. “Look, d’ya wanna come in?” 

Thirty long, breathless seconds later Rhett sits in the passenger seat of Link’s car. The seat was pushed far forward to fit Christy, the fit the person Link should be with, and Rhett shoves it back. _What a lousy metaphor_ , Link tells himself bitterly. Christy pushes forward and Rhett pulls back and Link is stuck in the middle, being torn in two. He lets himself believe it for a moment, that he is here due to no fault of his own, but he is just as guilty as Rhett. There is no purpose in feigning innocence anymore. Rhett sees each and every thing he tries to hide. 

“Rhett,” Link says, twisting and untwisting his hands in his lap. 

“Yeah?” Rhett replies.

“How long did you know, before I…before I…” He gulps, hopeless, dropping his head to the steering wheel. 

“If you’re askin’ me if I knew how you felt before you kissed me, the answer is no,” Rhett replies, coming to Link’s rescue. “That’s the only thing I didn’t see coming.”

“Ah,” Link breathes. 

“But the second you did it, I decided something.”

“What’s that?”

“That you were it for me. That you were gonna kill me and I was gonna let you. And you know what, Link?”

“What?”

“I was relieved. Because everything finally made sense.” Link scoffs, shaking his head, and Rhett gives a sad sort of half chuckle at his side. “I mean it. There was something missing between us all those years. Did you not feel it, Link? There was something we weren’t seeing. And to suddenly see it, as clear as day? I could have _cried_ , I felt so good.”

“Stop,” Link pleads, his heart somewhere in his stomach. He can’t take much more of this, of Rhett spilling everything out into the space between them. It’s too late, that’s all, and telling Link everything now can’t change that. Telling Link now can’t make anything better. They made a mistake and then they moved on from it (God, did they try). They tried to fix themselves and Link tried so hard to be a person without Rhett. He tried everything he could. But still, after fighting for his life in the aftermath of the worst he has ever done, Link is here and so is Rhett and nothing is any better for it. What the hell was the point?

“Not for a minute in all this time have I hated you half as much as I wanted to,” Rhett says. “It’s always been me hating myself for the way I loved you.”

“Loved,” Link replies, the past tense taking a toll on his beat up heart. 

“Love,” Rhett amends. And then, “I’ve waited all year to start hating you. For it to sink in, the hell you put us through. You put _me_ through. And it just never came. There was a lot of shit you pulled, Link, but I let you do it. What does that say about me?” And Link is in the wrong; Link has always been in the wrong. He pushed when he should have pulled and he backpedaled when it got too hard. He lied when he should have told the truth and every kiss Rhett gifted him was thrown back in his face with a declaration of hatred instead of love. Link told Rhett he hated him, he never wanted to see him again, he ruined everything by being the best thing Link ever had. Link lashed out and Link got scared; every time he got too close to giving up all he had for Rhett he took two steps back. That Rhett sits here now is nothing short of a miracle. 

“It says you’re even dumber than you look,” Link says, but for the first time tonight he lets light into the heavy shadow of his voice. Rhett picks up on it and he laughs, a genuine laugh albeit a small one. 

“I was always stupid for you,” Rhett agrees, his hands in his lap, and Link grapples hopelessly with the urge to grab them and place both warm palms on his own cheeks. After a moment the desire goes away, the overwhelming urge to feel Rhett’s hands on his skin, and it gets replaced with crushing terror. He can’t let himself give in to this again. 

“No,” Link says, “you were just always stupid in general.” Rhett groans, a soft noise of protest, but he says nothing in reply. He is done reminding Link to be kind to him. Link doesn’t blame him. “I didn’t mean that,” he says, surprising himself with the admission. 

“You didn’t?” The upturn in Rhett’s voice indicates he is just as surprised.

“I didn’t mean anything I said,” Link says, “back then.” He has his hands balled up in his lap, keeping them to himself, itching to reach out and touch Rhett in every place he can reach. The air in the car is stifling, far too warm, the night gray all around them, and once Link opens his mouth he can’t convince himself to stop. Maybe it’s better this way, a floodgate opened following an impatient drizzle of truths. Maybe it will be easier this way, to say it all now and never say it again. Rhett sits as still as stone and Link finally tells him something real. 

“When I told you I hated you, I didn’t mean it,” he says. “Every time you told me…every time you said you loved me and I didn’t say it back, I wanted to. I was just awed by you, Rhett. I’ve always been awed by you. I loved you so much it hurt and I didn’t know how to let it out. So I didn’t. I pretended it wasn’t real. I pretended the whole freaking thing wasn’t real. I thought I could get a handle on it if I could just make the right choices. And I thought that was it. I thought my only choice was to shut you out, to make you hate me, ‘cause if you hated me it might’ve been easier for you to end it.” 

Rhett scoffs. “I never, ever wanted it to end,” he says. And for the first time it’s easy for Link to look at him and admit the truth.

“Me neither,” he says. There is more to say; there is so, so much more. But Link has no time to say it. Here and now is the not the time nor place. Before he is ready Rhett moves. He slides his hand up to caress Link’s cheek, brushing gently across Link’s cheekbone with his thumb. It’s a touch Link has leaned into a thousand times, a touch he would know anywhere, the same way he touches Christy. And Rhett’s hands are so much bigger than Christy’s, so impossibly warm, and Link closes his eyes. He nuzzles into Rhett’s palm and Rhett knows exactly what to do. He opens his palm, sliding it down the side of Link’s jaw, letting Link take Rhett’s hand into both of his own. The familiarity of the dance their hands do is enough to make Link quiver. He takes Rhett’s hand, so big, so strong, and he presses a timid row of kisses across the vast plane of his palm. Rhett watches him and Link can see the hunger in his eyes without looking up to see it. Link holds his lips in the center of Rhett’s palm and sinks his teeth in, drawing a hiss from Rhett. 

“Link,” he breathes, and if the whispering of Link’s name is a warning or an exultation, Link pays him no mind. He nips at the base of Rhett’s thumb and then lets go, kissing his way to the prominent vein in Rhett’s wrist. It makes him feel lightheaded, the feeling of Rhett’s heartbeat surging under his lips, but it feels good in the most impossible way. The last place Link should be is here, kissing Rhett like he could devour him. But every choice he made and every path he took led him to this moment. Running away did nothing to save him. Right now he has trouble remembering why he even tried. 

“Link,” Rhett says again, and this time Link listens. He opens his eyes, flicking them up to meet Rhett’s, glowing orange under the streetlights. “Link, you can’t do this to me,” Rhett says. 

“Do what?” Link asks. “Kiss you?”

“Play with me.”

“’M not playing with you. I’m just…” Link bears down with his teeth on the inside of Rhett’s wrist and releases as Rhett takes in a sharp breath. “I’m just tryin’ to make sure you know.”

“Know what?” Rhett asks, belabored. 

“That I’m in love with you, man,” Link says. “That all the time in the world could pass and I would still be here…” He takes Rhett’s hand and draws it back to his face, letting Rhett cup his cheek, letting Rhett curl his fingers around the shell of Link’s ear. “Hopelessly in love with you,” he finishes. And all this time he thought he had Rhett; he thought he was in control. He thought he held all the cards and Rhett would stop the world to give him what he asked. And Rhett told him…Rhett admitted to it, to the inability to choose any sort of life over the life he built with Link. But for the first time, for once, Link relinquishes control. And he presses it gingerly into Rhett’s waiting hands. What Rhett does with it is up to him; he has all of Link now. Didn’t he always? 

“God, Link,” Rhett breathes, and the press of his lips against Link’s is just as sweet as he remembered. A year apart did nothing to dampen the fire between them. Link twists in his seat, the center console jutting into his hip and the steering wheel into his ribs. He slides his hands into Rhett’s hair, digging his fingers in, reckless and lightheaded with the smell of Rhett all over him. It’s masculine and thick and Link breathes it in, Rhett’s lips impossibly soft, Rhett’s tongue slick along the curve of Link’s lower lip. It’s too good, too sweet, unreal in it’s intensity, and it’s over too soon. Rhett pulls away, breath washing hot across Link’s mouth. 

“Link, you can’t…”

“Kiss me,” Link says. “Kiss me, kiss me.” Rhett groans, hands on the back of Link’s neck, and he obeys. The sun will be up soon and with it the rest of the world, coming to life in a haze of foggy pinks and reds. But for now the sky is steely gray, dark, and there is not one thing lurking at the beach that could break apart the kiss that turns into more. “I love you,” Link keens, desperate to remind Rhett that he has never meant anything more in his life. “Rhett, I love you, I love you.”

“I _know_ ,” Rhett groans like all the terrible things he called Link were left unsaid. It’s okay. It’s all right. Link deserved every word Rhett slung. Rhett doesn’t need to take them back for Link to know he did not mean a word. Link presses frantic kisses to every part of Rhett’s face he can reach, Rhett restless as Link kisses across his cheeks, his nose, his forehead, his eyes. He kisses Rhett to make up for lost time, to say _I’m so, so sorry_ without having to say it. He kisses Rhett because he has always been better with actions over words, his tongue getting in the way of every kind thing he ever meant to say. Rhett tastes as sweet as he did the last time Link kissed him and a year apart meant nothing at all. A year apart could never end what they started. How in the world did Link think he could ever escape this? Rhett was everything; Rhett _is_ everything, and Link was stupid to think there was any way out except to dive back in. Did he think he was going to spend the rest of his life in recovery from Rhett? 

Link slips a hand under the collar of Rhett’s shirt, bearing down at the notches of Rhett’s spine, and in return Rhett gasps into his open mouth. His hands are everywhere, so big as they encircle Link’s waist, fingers digging into Link’s hips. His hands are on Link’s thighs, spread over his ribs, tightening on his shoulder blades. Rhett is tireless, impatient, his mouth at Link’s ear and his hands sliding up under Link’s shirt. It’s too much, the heat of his hands and it’s too much, the soft pressing of his lips at the spot behind Link’s ear. Link shivers, his chest heaving, and his head thuds painfully on the steering wheel as Rhett guides him back. 

The pain in his head is enough to drag Link back to reality.

“Rhett,” he breathes, shuddering as Rhett nips at the underside of his jaw. 

“Mm?” Rhett replies. 

“Get off.” Immediately the pressure of Rhett’s body is gone. He leans back into his own seat, cheeks red and lips redder, his hair a wild mess. Link’s hands did that to him, twisting up into his hair and marring the artfully marred mess, and the thought makes Link feel sick. What gave him the right to do that? He holds no claim on Rhett. He has no right at all to touch him like this, to caress and kiss and hold. What is he _doing_? 

“Link, no,” Rhett says, because he knows Link better than he knows himself. Rhett wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand, a hand that shakes, and Link watches him. 

“I’m sorry,” Link says. 

“You can’t,” Rhett tries.

“I love you.” Link catches Rhett by surprise. Breathing heavy, body trembling, Rhett waits for Link to go on. “I need to think,” Link says. “God, Rhett, we never stop to _think_. Why do you think we keep screwing things up?”

“You think too much,” Rhett counters. His eyes are on Link’s lips and Link surges forward, capturing Rhett’s lips in the most chaste kiss they have shared since the beginning. The momentary press of hot skin on hot skin seems to quell the anxiety in Rhett; he leans heavy on the passenger side door, his lips parted and his eyes dazed. (Who the hell has who here?) 

“I love you,” Link says. “And I miss you. God, have I missed you.”

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

“Because I’m the worst,” Link says, deadpan, and Rhett shocks him with a chuckle. The chuckle turns into a real laugh, a big, beautiful thing, just like the man from which it comes. He is the most beautiful thing Link has ever seen, his limbs everywhere as he leans back in Link’s car, eyes screwed up from laughter. 

“You are the worst,” Rhett says. “Always have been.” He chokes on his laughter and reaches out for Link, taking Link’s hand into both of his. “God, you’re going to be the death of me,” he says. “I knew it from the beginning.”

“When we first met?”

“Yeah,” Rhett laughs, tears of mirth in the corners of his eyes. “All the way from the beginning.”

“And you still chose me.”

“Yeah,” Rhett says. “And I would do it all again.” 

Dawn burns bright all around them as they talk, swapping stories of all the things they missed the most. A year apart meant nothing but lost time they would have to find somewhere, and they tell tales of the triumphs and losses the past year gave to them. It’s an easy rhythm, Link and Rhett, Rhett and Link, the pair they were always meant to be. They tangle their hands up together and Link tries not to cry, not to think, not to panic. Panic constricts his heart anyway, making it damn near impossible to breathe, but he squeezes Rhett’s fingers and he tries. Morning comes too soon and there are two families waiting on them. Two places to which they have to return. Morning comes and Rhett slips from Link’s car, lips plump from the time spent kissing between bouts of laughter. It’s a beautiful look on him: utter perfection. And Link loves him desperately. 

For the second time Rhett leans inside Link’s car from the outside, one elbow planted in the car. “When will I see you again?” he asks. He keeps his distance in the light of day but all the distance in the world could not disguise the want in his eyes as he trails them across Link’s mouth. 

“Soon,” Link says. Rhett’s hungry gaze is all he wants. But he has a place, a home, somewhere he has to go and a reality he has to face before it unravels. He has a world of his own and so does Rhett and they have no plans, Rhett and Link, but going home and tying loose ends is a good enough place to start. 

They say their goodbyes, their _see you laters_ , and Link lets Rhett leave first. He watches Rhett’s car until it’s gone and only then does he drop his head to the steering wheel, something indescribable twisting up his guts. He will not lose Rhett again. He won’t let it happen. But he knows something Rhett doesn’t seem to grasp: something this good was never meant to belong to Link. And it’s only a matter of time before it all comes tumbling down.

 

Link yawns so wide his jaw creaks as he arrives home, throwing his car keys on the kitchen table to find his wife standing there. Christy waits by the coffee maker in her bathrobe, her hair a mess and her hands twisted up in the tie of her robe. 

“Morning,” she says. “Where were you?”

“Needed to think,” Link says, dropping into a chair at the table. “I just drove to the beach and sat there for a while.” 

“Mhm,” she says. “And how did it go?”

Link touches the pads of his fingers to his swollen lower lip before he can think about it and tell himself to stop. “Not sure,” he replies. The coffee maker emits a shrill beep and Christy turns away for a moment to pour out a mug for herself. She takes a second mug from the cabinet over her head and pours out another for Link, sitting beside him and guiding it into his hand.

“Thank you,” he says. 

“I thought about what you said,” she replies.

“Hm?” The middle of the night feels like a lifetime ago now, Rhett’s lips all Link can think about. But he woke up beside his wife, terror in his chest, and he remembers now. Christy fiddles with her wedding ring, the diamond catching meager sunlight from the kitchen window, and Link focuses on that instead of Christy’s face. 

“I think,” she says, taking her time, “that giving up on you would be the worst mistake of my life.” She looks away from him just as much as he looks away from her. “And I was thinking, after all we’ve been through together, why can’t we get through this? If you’re serious about this, about this family, then…” Christy swallows, wedding ring tapping noisily against the porcelain of her mug. “Then I want to give us another try.” 

Link freezes. 

A moment ago his path was clear. He was losing his wife, he was losing his family, and the only open path before him was the one that led to Rhett. But to look the other way and find the first path cleared of dust and ruin and debris…suddenly it’s not so easy. 

“Link?” Christy asks, lips parted, confusion crinkling her brow. “Isn’t that what you want?” 

Is it? 

Link stays still, heart in his throat, the taste of Rhett’s lips on his tongue. But Link has Christy and he loves her more than he loves the reverent way Rhett says his name. Doesn’t he? He needs Christy more than he needs the desperation in Rhett’s hands when he can’t get close to Link fast enough. Doesn’t he? Link pauses, poised to shatter and fall, and Christy waits at his side. Christy has always waited at his side. 

“Yes,” Link says, giving in to the choice he should have never had to make. “Yes, God, that’s what I want.” Christy holds him, his head on her chest, and Link closes his eyes and wills away all the reckless things he could have said instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> questions, comments, concerns, and incoherent screaming gladly welcomed at reedytenors on tumblr. thank you, thank you for reading and supporting me thus far. <3


	4. A Coast That's Unclear

Link spends his morning with his wife, one arm draped over her shoulder as they sit in front of the TV. Christy is animated, lively, as bright as Link has seen her in months. She gabs about nothing, her hand on Link’s thigh, squeezing now and then until Link squirms away and laughs. Link revels in the sort of morning he would have killed for even yesterday, even last night. But his phone vibrates in his pocket and he knows who it is before he looks. He makes an excuse to slip away, locking himself in the bathroom and slamming the toilet lid down for a place to sit. A number lights up his screen, not a name, Rhett’s phone number still erased from the phone’s memory. 

_I never thought I’d let you back under my skin_ , the text reads. And Link feels the familiar surge of heat in his gut he has not felt since last September. He dances his fingers over the bright screen of his phone, unsure of what to say if he’s going to say anything at all. Christy’s change of heart changes everything. Link is no longer responsible only for his own heart; if he falls to pieces again he is taking his family down with him. The best thing to do would be to do nothing at all. Link should delete the text, block the number, and try his best to forget. But Link has never been good at doing what he should. 

_I didn’t think Stone Cold McLaughlin let anything get under his skin_ , Link replies. A moment later his phone buzzes again, Rhett’s reply causing a hysterical bubble of laughter to burst from Link before he can contain it. He sits alone on the toilet, one hand over his mouth to keep his laughter inside, the other shaking as he reads the message over and over.

_Only you, Mouth King._

Link is rendered immobile by four simple words on the screen of his phone. It hits him hard, that’s all, the memory of all the terrible, stupid pet names they called each other that slipped from the studio to the bedroom. It makes Link feel sick, his stomach turning, but it’s impossible to ignore the less complicated things the memories dredge up. There’s lying on his back, Rhett holding his arms over his head with one huge hand. There’s draping himself in Rhett’s lap, nipping at Rhett’s lips, whispering all the things he was going to do to Rhett once the work day was through. And there’s late nights, the two of them poring over plans for the upcoming weeks, Rhett’s back to Link. There’s Link rising from his desk to stand behind Rhett, wrapping his arms around his best friend’s broad chest, and Rhett leaning gratefully into the touch. There’s too much, that’s all, and Link catches his breath as he sits alone and bears the weight of it all. 

It would be too easy to fall back into all the little things they used to do. Rhett would flirt over text, utterly shameless, and Link would give back everything he got. He would hide from Christy, just like this, hands shaking as he thought of something equal parts witty and sexy to reply. He would wait, breathless, as he watched Rhett typing up text after text. And as his heart raced, his lip between his teeth, Link would lose himself in the world in which he and Rhett pretended they lived. 

There was a place somewhere between Buies Creek and Los Angeles, a place that didn’t really exist. It was a place they could have ended up if things were different, just a touch, just the smallest bit. If they had not waited so long. If Rhett had kissed Link the day Link broke his pelvis, like Rhett told him seventeen years later he wanted to so badly. If the door had not been open the last day Rhett laid on top of Link and refused to get up, saying, “I’m dead,” over and over. If someone had not walked by, peering in and running away, maybe then things would be different now. There were too many what-ifs for Link to dwell on; there were too many places in which the paths before them diverged and they chose wrong. 

It would be too easy to go back to the way they lived last summer. 

It is far too easy to go back to the place where Rhett makes Link feel warm to the bone. Link has a reply ready, quick and smart: _I prefer Serpent King_. But it’s far too easy to make all the wrong choices and Link pauses, living in a world where he presses SEND. In the world where he gives in, there are no easy choices. Link flirts as carelessly as Rhett and he blushes over his phone. Christy sees and Christy knows and it’s not long after that when she gives Link no more second chances. And after that, it’s all over. Link chooses to live in the world where he keeps hold of the thread on which his family hangs. He deletes his reply and he buries his face in both hands, shaking it like he can shake all the thoughts of Rhett from his brain. He can’t. Of course he can’t. Rhett is in his bones; Rhett is in every part of him. There’s nowhere he can hide from all the places Rhett has touched him. It’s simple: Rhett has touched him everywhere. 

In the end Link has to make a choice and he sends a message that Rhett can read loud and clear. 

_Christy wants to try again_ , he types. And he presses SEND. A moment later his phone shimmies in his hands. 

_And what do you want?_ Rhett replies. 

It takes Link far too long to stop imagining the way Rhett’s beard tickles his throat and start thinking of something to save himself instead. But he doesn’t have it in him to conjure up a lie. He’s done telling half-truths and downright lies. Rhett deserves better. Foolishly, Link replies with the truth. _I don’t know._

Rhett types for a long time, three tiny bubbles bouncing on Link’s screen, Link jiggling his knees to keep from pacing the bathroom like a lunatic. When Rhett’s reply comes, Link nearly drops his phone on the white tile floor. _Is there something I can do to help make up your mind?_

Rhett said Link is going to be the death of him. For the first time in a year, Link feels Rhett might be the same for him. 

_I need to get away_ , Link sends. Where he wants to go, he has no idea. Where he needs to be, he knows even less. But wherever he goes, whatever he does, he wants Rhett there with him. A year apart was too long but a few hours spent without Rhett by his side feels longer. 

_One getaway, coming up_ , Rhett replies. _Be ready to go in an hour. I’ll pick you up._ There’s a pause, Rhett typing again, and his text hits Link like a slap in the face. _Hey, man…what’s your address?_ There are too many things Rhett no longer knows, too many parts of Link he has no access to, and it sits heavy in Link’s stomach to think about. Rhett has no idea where he lives. Rhett has no idea what movies Link has seen this year, what books he has read, all the funny and terrible and wonderful things he has done. It makes Link feel a lot like crying, the thought of all the moments they have missed, and he tells Rhett the address of his hideaway across the city. A moment later, he tries chasing it with something a little more cowardly. 

_I can’t just leave_ , Link types. He deletes it and tries again. _Christy will want to know where I’m going._ Delete. Backtrack. _Where are you taking me?_ Delete. _Please tell me I’ll need an overnight bag._ Delete. Eventually Link decides on a noncommittal reply, something innocuous and easy. _Thank you_ , he sends. _Thank you, thank you, thank you._ He gets up, his legs and butt and back aching from sitting hunched on the toilet, his bones creaking. The sound of popping joints only serves as a reminder of how damn old he is and how many years he has spent (wasted) unsure of the life he wants. He leaves the bathroom and Christy accepts his explanation for all the time he spent in there. He tells her he got distracted answering emails and she shrugs and lets it go. 

“Listen,” Link says, and Christy does. She looks beautiful, ridiculously so where she stands in the kitchen, hands curled to cup her elbows. “I’m gonna go out for a while. I forgot to tell you I made plans. I dunno how long I’ll be or…or anything, but I’m…”

“Oh, who with?” Christy interjects. There is nothing malicious in the question, no suspicion, but Link’s spine prickles uncomfortably anyway. 

“Uh,” Link says after a beat, and by the narrowing of Christy’s eyes he knows he’s been quiet a beat too long to lie. “With Rhett.”

“Rhett?” she asks, her pretty mouth hanging open in disbelief. 

“Yeah,” Link replies. “Rhett.” 

“When did…how did…” She flounders, helpless, and Link is sorry. She tries again. “When did you reach out to him?”

“When you told me you wanted a divorce, Christy,” Link says, harsher than he means. Hurt flashes across Christy’s face and he is sorry for that, too, but what in the world can he do? 

“What did you…what did you say to him?” she asks. Link knows what she tries to ask. It’s clear as day in the downturn of her lips: she wants to know his intentions with Rhett in the aftermath of a year spent mourning him. 

“I said I miss him,” Link says. “B’cause I do. And I said I want to see him. ‘Cause I do.” 

Christy thinks for a moment, her brow furrowed, but the next thing she gives Link is a smile. “I miss him, too,” she admits. “But are you sure that seeing him right now is a good idea?”

“What’s that s’posed to mean?” Link asks even though he knows exactly what it means. 

“Your head isn’t screwed on right at the moment, Link,” she says.

“When is it ever?” he tries to joke, but Christy shakes her head and cuts him off.

“You’re hung up on him,” she says. “Aren’t you?”

“I never said I was hung up on him,” Link says. “You asked me a question and I answered it. And I never said anything about bein’ hung up on anybody. Never mind him.” She asked him if he had been in love with Rhett; she never asked him if he loves Rhett still. What would he say if she did? 

He knows what he would say. He would lie. And he would tell her no. 

“I wish you would have told me,” Christy says. 

“It’s just Rhett,” Link replies.

“Exactly,” she says. Because she knows as well as Link does; he has never been _just Rhett_. He has always been everything, half of Link, a part of him. There is no _just Rhett_. There is no just the end of the world, either, and to compare Rhett to the end of all things would be comparing two things of equal calamity. 

“Whaddya want me to say, Christy?” Link asks. “’M sorry I didn’t tell you. But I thought I was gonna lose you, all right? And since I didn’t have anything else to lose…I called him. I thought there was no better time to risk being shut out than when I was already being shut out of my own goddamn family.”

“Don’t swear at me, Link,” Christy says tiredly. “For the record, never in my life would I dream of shutting you out. A separation isn’t the same thing as shutting you out, Link.” 

He almost says something stupid; he almost says _tell that to him_. But he shuts his mouth and Christy watches him, her arms folded over her chest. She speaks before he can come up with anything to say. 

“I want to see him,” she says. “I love him, too, you know.”

“I know,” Link replies. 

“But?”

“But nothing. He’ll be here soon and you’ll see him then. Just don’t do something embarrassing like cry all over him or somethin’.” Link tries to ease some of the encroaching fear on his wife’s face, the fear he feels mirrored on his own. They both fear the same thing: losing one another. The same fear eats at Christy that eats at Link; Rhett standing between them is something they never expected. But why does Rhett have to be something they have to overcome? It never used to be so black and white. There was Rhett and there was Link. There was Link and Christy and there was _RhettandLink_ and all facets of Link’s life were like that, intertwined. Somewhere between kissing Rhett for the first time and almost losing him forever the tangled web that was Link’s life began to unravel. And now, the tendrils and strings finally pulled apart, Rhett is waiting to yank it all back together. 

Link is going to let him. 

Christy is fidgety, restless, her hands all over Link as she waits with him for Rhett. She rubs a circle on the inside of Link’s thigh as they sit side by side on the living room sofa, both of them pretending to be engrossed in the TV. Link catches Christy staring out the window more than once and each time she smiles sheepishly and goes back to staring at the TV screen. She is subdued, a duller, more timid version of the woman Link spent his morning with, but Link understands. He feels subdued, too. (Even the color of the paint on the walls feels subdued in the wake of sunlight bouncing off the honey of Rhett’s hair.) 

They wait, not speaking, Christy dropping her head on Link’s shoulder and keeping it there. She squeezes his thigh too hard but he lets her. The feeling of her fingernails bearing down over the denim of his jeans keeps him grounded. Christy has always kept Link grounded when he needs it. And when the doorbell rings, echoing through the living room, Link needs it. Christy is right behind him, one hand on the small of his back as they make their way to the front door. Link quakes and Christy must feel the twitching of his muscles under her hand. She doesn’t say a word. Rhett waits on the front porch with both hands behind his back, a picture of grace, of confidence. He’s radiant, sunlight dancing on his tan skin, a smile plastered on his face. Link opens the screen door to let him in and the moment the barrier is gone Rhett is inside, Christy in his arms. She shrieks, the sound a whoop of joy, and Rhett lifts her off the floor with the force of his embrace. Link takes a big step back, narrowly avoiding being squashed against the wall, his wife impossibly small in Rhett’s arms. 

“It’s good to see you,” Rhett says, genuine, always the one to say something real when he thinks it instead of overthinking and not saying it at all. “It’s really, really good to see you.” He sets Christy down, her cheeks flushed and scrunched up from smiling, her nose crinkling. She straightens her blouse, craning her neck to look Rhett full in the face, and she tells him it’s good to see him, too. And the thing is, she means it. She’s honest and open and good, nothing at all like Link, and the smile on her face makes Link’s chest hurt like nothing else can. 

“How are the kids?” Christy asks, bouncing on the balls of her bare feet, her fears forgotten in the wake of too much time spent missing the McLaughlins. “How’s Jessie?” Rhett answers every question she slings, eyes sparkling as he looks down at her, genuine happiness all over his face. “I’ve missed them,” Christy says, and Link is infinitely grateful for the lack of accusation in her voice. She doesn’t blame Rhett one bit for the holes punched in her heart. Link will gladly take the blame; Rhett did nothing but try his best to keep it all together. For all the anger Link directed Rhett’s way, he would do anything to protect him from the anger of anyone else. 

“Where’re your monsters?” Rhett asks, peering behind Link as he hovers at his wife’s side like the kids might be lurking at Link’s back. 

“They’re out biking at the park,” Christy says. “Oh, Rhett, you should stick around to see them. They would lose their minds if you were here to surprise them.” For the first time since entering the house Rhett’s smile falters. It slips the smallest fraction and then it returns in full force. If Link didn’t know him so deeply he would not have seen it at all. 

“I’ll be back,” Rhett says, “another day. I promise. I’ll bring Jessie and the kids over anytime you want. Lord knows Jessie has been hurtin’ for missing you.” He shifts where he stands, shrugging, guilt marring his face. 

“It’s okay, Rhett,” Christy tells him before Link gets the chance. “We just all have a lot of catching up to do. A visit sounds great.” She reaches out and squeezes Rhett’s forearm over the artfully half rolled sleeve of his plaid shirt, a look she used to tease him for back when they were younger. She always told him the fake messy thing didn’t work for him and he always told her he wasn’t fake messy, he was just regular messy. She used to get a big kick out of that. “Look, why don’t you guys get outta here?” Christy says. “And don’t let it be another year before I see you again, Rhett.” She laughs, a trilling thing, and maybe she still has it in her to get a kick out of things. 

“No ma’am,” he replies, teasing, smiling so wide it looks like it might hurt. “I couldn’t bear to miss you so much again.” He leans down and gives her a peck on the cheek, making her squirm, and she giggles as he looks over her head at Link. “Ready to go, brother?” he asks. Weakly, Link nods. He says goodbye to his wife, Christy still laughing as she waves him off, giddy with the promise of seeing Jessie and her boys. Link feels it, too, the release of building pressure, the relief of finally getting back to the way things ought to be. It only intensifies, the warmth budding in Link’s chest, when he and Rhett fall into step side by side. Christy closes the front door behind them and Rhett’s car waits in the driveway. They don’t talk as they climb inside. The car rumbles into life, Rhett reverses out into the street, and Link sits still with his hands laced in his lap. This is where Link has wanted to be all year, right here at Rhett’s side. This is where his mind has wandered; this is what he has wanted to get back. Now that he is here he has no idea what to do. 

Rhett is the one to break the silence. “Where do you wanna go, bo?”

“Don’t call me that,” Link says before he can stop himself. It’s too intimate, the loving term of endearment, but if Rhett asked him if it still made him shiver to hear he would have to tell the truth. Thankfully, Rhett doesn’t ask. 

“I shoulda expected you to be so hot and cold,” Rhett says, entirely without malice. He only sounds resigned. Tired. Just like he did to his wife, Link seems to drain the joy from Rhett simply by existing at his side. 

“Rhett,” Link replies. Simple. Even sad and more than a little long-suffering, Rhett looks nothing short of stunning behind the steering wheel. His eyes glisten and a smile dances prettily on his lips. It’s too warm out to be wearing what he’s wearing, his long sleeved flannel shirt and dark blue jeans, but he has the windows rolled down and it doesn’t seem to bother him. The wind whipping through the car makes talking hard and Link tries to talk anyway. “Does Jessie know you’re with me?” he asks. 

“Yes.”

“What did she say when you told her?”

“She told me to have a nice time,” Rhett says, shrugging. 

“Oh.”

“Why? What would you expect her to say?” Rhett glances at Link, speeding past a stoplight as it turns yellow. Link lifts his eyes to watch it shift to red as the car glides smoothly underneath. 

“I dunno,” Link says. “It’s just…”

“Christy doesn’t want you hangin’ out with me.”

“Right.” Link sinks down in his seat, huffing out a breath and turning his head to watch Rhett. Link spent so many years sitting on Rhett’s left side, being Rhett’s left hand, the angle feels all wrong. After a quiet moment Rhett’s lips quirk up into a smile, Rhett glancing at Link. 

“Crazy,” he says, “that after all the years I’ve demanded your attention, she’s never seen me as someone to compete with until now.” 

“I’ve only been with you for five minutes, dude,” Link replies, desperate for something simple to say to change the subject, “and you’re already drivin’ me crazy.” He gives his head a shake and Rhett chuckles, his shoulders shaking with it. 

“You’ve been driving me crazy my whole life,” Rhett replies. “’M allowed to return the favor every once and a while.” Link gives him that. He owes Rhett a hell of a lot more than a chance to drive him mad; he owes Rhett the world. That was what Rhett gave to him, after all. Link’s capacity for giving is a lot smaller than Rhett’s, his ability to give Rhett what he needs a lot smaller. But sitting beside Rhett, feeling so small he could disappear, Link is going to give it all he’s got. 

“I’m sorry we didn’t realize until it was too late,” he says, offering it up like it’s nothing serious, something small. But Rhett’s hands tighten on the steering wheel, knuckles going white, and the look he shoots at Link burns. 

“’Snot too late,” Rhett replies. “We’re still alive, man. It’s not gonna be too late ‘till we’re dead. And even then, there’s always Heaven.”

“Heaven,” Link scoffs. 

“Yeah, man.”

“Like we’re going there.” Link was always taught, for as long as his memory goes back, what a young man has to do to get to Heaven. The rules are simple: give, be kind, be good. Pray, and confess, and beg forgiveness for your sins. But there are wrongs Link has done for which he has never confessed: he has lied, he has cheated, he has stolen, and _God_ , has he coveted. If Hell is real Link sure as hell is going there. And Rhett is going to be right there with him. 

“Don’t say that,” Rhett scolds, his voice somber. “Why would you say that?”

“Want me to list the damn reasons, man?”

“No,” Rhett replies. 

“Didn’t think so.” Link slinks even lower in his seat, back aching from the awkward position. He gropes for the lever at his side and the seat thumps backwards, taking Link with it. Lying on his back feels better, his long legs stretched out under the dashboard. 

“What are you _doing_?” Rhett laughs. 

“Wake me up when we get to Hell,” Link replies. He closes his eyes, face turned towards Rhett, and Rhett laughs at him. 

“Sure, brother,” he says. “I’ll see you there.” It’s easy this way, Link’s head lolling with the motion of the car. This way he can pretend he’s in the right place with the right person; this way he can pretend he knows who the right person is or where is the right place. He hardly trusts himself not to fall asleep, the quiet hum of the radio and the gentle shaking of the car lulling him, but Rhett’s presence keeps him on edge. He stays awake. 

He fell asleep just like this, once. It was shortly before the end, when Rhett wanted to tell the world and all Link wanted to do was hide. Rhett was supposed to pick Link up and drive him to work, but he took one look at Link that morning and changed his plans. He called Stevie and told her they couldn’t make it that day as Link protested half-heartedly in the passenger seat of Rhett’s car. 

“What’re you doing, man?” Link asked as Rhett hung up the phone and dropped it carelessly into his cup holder. Link was tired and grumpy, the result of the argument they had the night before. They had fought for hours, shouting at the top of their lungs in the otherwise empty studio, loud enough to hurt. Link’s throat ached still as he sat at Rhett’s side, anger bubbling in his gut as he tried to shake off the argument. It was useless. It was the sort of fight there was no recovering from. Link had shouted, tears in his eyes, that he hated Rhett. That they had something good, something amazing, and he hated Rhett for his desire to throw it all away. Rhett wanted to tell the truth and Link was terrified, slinging oaths and curses and everything his hands touched at Rhett. He had picked up a mug, one of the black and orange mugs sitting on their shared desk, and that had been the final straw. Rhett had extricated it from his fingers, Rhett’s hands gentle even as they shook, and Rhett had held him as he cried. It was too much too soon, that was all, and Link felt sick and not like himself as he sat in Rhett’s car. 

“Can you afford a day away?” Rhett asked instead of answering. Link told him he could. Sure, he could. “Then I have an idea,” Rhett said. And that was all. Rhett drove, and he drove, and he drove. He eased his car north, going nowhere in particular, Link along for the ride. Rhett got the urge sometimes to drive in utter aimlessness when he was feeling lost. This time, Link felt the same. They sat in agreeable silence, a small miracle after the screaming they did the night before, and after a quiet hour passed Link rolled back his seat to stare at the ceiling. “Don’t you doze off on me,” Rhett asked of him, and it was the last thing Link heard before he fell asleep. The next thing he was aware of was darkness, nightfall coming fast as the sun sank low on the horizon. Link made to move, to stretch out the limbs made sore by God knows how many hours spent curled on his side. But a moment of quiet led to a moment of Rhett clearing his throat to speak and Link stayed perfectly still.

“Link?” he said. Link feigned sleep, his hands curled up by his face, his hip jutting into the clasp of his seatbelt. “Hey, you asleep?” Link said nothing. He waited for Rhett to do something embarrassing like start to sing along with the radio or turn on a guilty pleasure song. He waited for Rhett to go quiet again, to hum, to give up on waking Link and go back to watching the road all alone. Rhett did nothing like that. Instead, he spoke to Link. “I’m sorry we can’t stop fighting, man,” he said. “I’m sorry. I never for a second thought lovin’ you could be this hard.” Link heard him rub at his beard, a nervous tic, and Link stayed still. “So we want different things. That’s okay. It is, isn’t it? We’ve always worked through our differences before.” (But this was different.) “’M scared, Link,” he said, and it was the first time he admitted it. “I’m scared of this ending. I’m scared of the wheels fallin’ off and I’m scared I’m gonna lose you. I wish I could get into your head sometimes. There must be a storm brewing in there.” He had no idea. “Maybe you’re right,” he said. “Maybe we shouldn’t tell the truth. But we can’t keep doing things this way. That’d kill me, Link. ‘Cause I want all of you. I hate myself for wanting that, you know, but it’s the truth. I want all of you and I want you to myself and I hate the world, I hate _everything_ , for not allowing me that. But then I get reminded…we’re in the real world. We have families and we have wives and we’re the scum of the earth, you know, for doing what we’re doing. We are, no matter how right it feels. It should have been real, Link. It could have been. If we let it. But we screwed up and we waited too long. Why did we wait so _long_?” His voice broke. Link wanted to hold him, to stroke his cheeks and tell him the right choice would make itself clear. But even he did not believe that. There was only one way for everything to end. They were going to lose one another. Rhett was going to make the right choice and he was going to end it. He was always the braver of the two of them. And Link was going to stand at Rhett’s side for as long as he could and then he was going to let the end come. What else could he do? 

It was the middle of the night before they made it home, Rhett idling in Link’s driveway. He was woozy and sore from a day spent in the car, his head pounding. Something in Link’s head insisted this would be the last time he saw Rhett (he knew it was a wild thought, something stupid; they had work in the morning with no excuses left to not show up) and he clung to it, immobile in the passenger seat. 

“What’s wrong?” Rhett asked. His eyes were rimmed in red, bloodshot, tired. Still, he was beautiful. Why had Link never told him that before, that he was beautiful? Rhett told Link he was all the time. What was it that kept Link from saying it back? 

“I’m so gone for you I don’t know what to do,” Link replied. He laid it out, just like that, the closest he had ever gotten to admitting desperate, hopeless love. That was all it took. Reckless, right in front of Link’s house, Rhett kissed him. Link pulled away, eyes on the dark front of the house, and Rhett reeled him back in for another. 

“We’re okay,” Rhett told him, pressing his forehead to Link’s. “No matter what happens, we’re okay.”

“You don’t know that,” Link replied, painfully close to crying. He hated to cry in front of Rhett. He hated it. Vulnerability was never his strong suit. 

“I do,” Rhett said. His stormy eyes were too intense, too bright, and Link closed his eyes rather than look at them. “You think I’m gonna let us be anything but okay? When have we ever been anything but okay?” And there was fighting, and there were long nights spent on opposite ends of a big office, but there were good things, too. There was always something good to ease away the bad. There was Rhett pulling Link into his lap to soothe away a lie Link had to tell. There was Link laughing until he cried to make better the half-truths he told Christy to her face. There was always something good. Always. Link chose to nod and search for Rhett’s lips in the dark rather than voice his fear that what they were doing was not something Rhett could fix. 

It never got better after that night. (They were fine. And then they weren’t.) 

Now, Link yanks at his seatbelt to turn on his side, facing Rhett with his eyes wide open. “Where’re we really going?” he asks, clasping his hands and sliding them under his head, fingertips going numb from the awkward position. 

“Hell doesn’t interest you?” Rhett replies. 

“No.”

“Well, in that case, how does a movie sound?” They drive far out of Los Angeles, to a city Link has never been, and it doesn’t take long to find a movie theater. They choose a stupid movie with reviews lambasting the amount of blood and guts and they wait in line, Link’s hip brushing Rhett’s thigh as they stand. Popcorn and soda in hand, the two of them pick seats at the very back of the theater. Link is tired, impossibly so, and he doesn’t mean to but he dozes through the previews. He finds himself with his head on Rhett’s shoulder and he jerks up, spilling popcorn across his lap, Rhett chuckling with his knuckles in his mouth to stifle the sound. How many times have they sat together, just like this, a terrible movie playing as they giggled and whispered and paid almost no attention? The number is too high to count. But they did a lot of hiding away together, in the beginning of the end, their heads close together as they pretended movie dates were their permanent reality. The memories hit Link all at once and he finds himself breathless, gulping air to get it into his lungs and into his blood. 

“Please don’t run away from me,” Rhett leans over to say, and it’s the only thing he says throughout the whole movie. Link keeps his eyes plastered on the screen and his hands in his popcorn, scared to death of making a wrong choice and making a wrong move. He leaves it up to Rhett. And eventually, without saying a word, Rhett presents his open hand to Link. He flattens his palm, waiting, a question in the gesture. He gives Link all the cards he holds and offers to trade it for the deck in Link’s hand. Link accepts. He slips his hand into Rhett’s, their palms sliding together, but it isn’t good enough for Link. He shifts, lacing his fingers up with Rhett’s, squeezing, and Rhett makes a happy noise in the back of his throat Link never thought he would hear again. 

(He’s going to Hell but at least he’s not going alone.)

He holds tight to Rhett’s hand, clutching it in his lap. _(Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.)_ His wife is at home and Rhett knows the way things have to be. Rhett knows he has committed to making things better, to choosing right, to loving his wife. Who does Rhett think he’s kidding, holding Link’s hand? This moment is not theirs to keep. They have to stop and they have to think. They have to come up with something, anything, because Link can’t sit here dangling on the edge of a cliff anymore. One way or another, jumping off or being pushed, they have to choose. _(My last confession was a lifetime ago and these are my sins.)_

One way or another, Link can’t do what he’s doing anymore. He needs to do something to ease the panic clawing at his chest. 

_(I have lied more times than I can count. I have committed adultery. I have cheated and hurt and caused pain. And all because I loved a boy too much and waited too long to tell him.)_

Rhett squeezes Link’s fingers and Link returns the squeeze. It’s a familiar motion, Rhett asking _you here?_ with the touch and Link replying _I am_ in return. Unsatisfied, Rhett squeezes again. Link presses his fingers into Rhett’s hard enough to make Rhett gasp in pain but still Rhett squeezes again. 

_(My God, I am sorry for my sins with all my heart.)_

“Are you really here with me, Link?” Rhett whispers, speaking out with his tongue instead of his fingertips. 

“I’m here,” Link tells him. He’s here. For better or worse, whatever is going to happen next, Link is here. He brushes a kiss across Rhett’s knuckles because he can and then he waits, calm, for guilt to gnaw at him down to the bone. For once, for the first time, it doesn’t come. Maybe this is what ruin feels like: a hand bigger than his own holding onto his. And maybe this is what damnation feels like, a shiver running down Link’s spine at the heat of Rhett’s open hand. 

_(God, have mercy.)_


	5. Warm Your Heart For Me

Stepping out into the sunlight from the dark movie theater does nothing to snap Link back into reality. It might be Rhett taking long strides at his side or it might be the aftereffects of stark unreality presented by the movie. Whatever the cause, Link chooses to stay in the moment for as long as he can. Whatever wrathful, all-consuming God Link felt in the theater is gone now, replaced with heat, replaced with the sun. 

“Rhett,” he says, and Rhett looks down at him, arching an eyebrow. “Please don’t take me home yet.” 

“Sure thing,” Rhett says. “Where do you wanna go?” Link wants to answer with something reckless. Something like _I want to take you far from here where it can be you and me and no one, nothing else_. Instead he pokes his tongue out between his teeth, delighting in the way Rhett’s eyes follow it. He chews on it for a moment, almost jogging to keep up with Rhett, and for his part Rhett collides with a parked car for staring at Link. He puts both hands out to save himself, bouncing off the side of a stranger’s car, and he blushes crimson as the car alarm begins to wail. 

“Go!” Link laughs, Rhett motionless with his hands in the air like a convict. “Go, go, go!” He shoves Rhett with both hands, laughing so hard he can’t see, and Rhett moves with him. They dash from the scene of the crime, running across the movie theater parking lot without looking back. Link leads the way towards Rhett’s car, dazed from the sunlight bouncing off the pavement. Rhett’s fingers meet his and just like that they’re holding hands as if they are allowed. As if they have permission, as if broad daylight means nothing. When they reach the car, the sound of the alarm chasing on their heels, Link tries to release Rhett’s hand. Instead of letting go Rhett yanks Link back, sending him reeling. He has no time to pull away, to shout, to protest before he crashes into Rhett’s chest. Rhett hooks an arm around Link’s waist, pulling him flush against his body, his cheeks pink and eyes sparkling. 

“Hi,” Rhett says.

“’Lo,” Link replies. He looks up into Rhett’s face, his hands balled into fists on either side of Rhett’s sternum. He makes to pull away but Rhett holds him fast, one hand on the small of his back and the other curled into the fabric of his T-shirt right between his shoulder blades. “What’re you doing, Rhett?” he asks, unable to look anywhere but into Rhett’s face. There are people everywhere; there are strangers on all sides and Link feels surrounded. 

“I’m just lookin’ at you,” Rhett replies, and finally the distant shriek of the car alarm goes silent. Without the cacophony of sound it gets easier for Link to hear his own thoughts. And his own thoughts are the last thing he wants to hear. 

“Why?” Link asks. “What’re you lookin’ for?” 

“Nothin’,” Rhett replies. “There’s just a lot of things I wanna say and I don’t have a lot of time to say it.”

“You could try,” Link says. Rhett thinks about it, working his lip between his teeth, but in the end he shrugs and he beams and he says, 

“Maybe some other time. For now, I have an idea of where I’d like to take you.” Rhett lets go of Link so quickly he falters, catching himself on the hood of Rhett’s car as Rhett slides laughing behind the steering wheel. With both palms on the scalding metal of the hood Link lifts his eyes to meet Rhett’s. Through the windshield they eye one another, neither one of them moving or breathing or looking away. Link has a wild, persistent thought as he stares at Rhett: _mine_. It’s simple, or it should be. Rhett is his Rhett; Rhett is his to have and hold and adore. He has no right to claim Rhett. He has no right at all. But he watches Rhett, not daring to look away for fear of him disappearing, and Rhett looks back. Rhett looks back like he has for thirty years and how has Link survived all these years under such a gaze?

“Shit!” Link hisses, drawing his hands back as the metal under his palms begins to burn. He shakes his hands out, grimacing, tearing his eyes from Rhett, but then Rhett is hopping out of the car and dropping gracefully back to the pavement. 

“Link, you absolute menace,” Rhett breathes, and he takes Link’s hands in his own. He flips them over to examine Link’s palms, gentle, eyes roving as he reads Link like a book. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Link replies. 

“Dang,” Rhett says, his thumb painting a line from the inside of Link’s left wrist to the center of his palm. “I was gonna offer to kiss it and make it better. But if you’re okay…”

Link interrupts by hissing a phony cry of pain through his teeth. Rhett beams. He lifts Link’s hands to his mouth and presses one kiss to each open palm, first his left and then his right. His beard tickles the sensitive skin and Rhett chuckles, delighted, when goose bumps fly up Link’s arms at the sensation. 

“Whaddya say we get going?” Rhett asks. “That is, if you’re not hurtin’ too much.”

“No,” Link says. He’s just stunned, that’s all. He’s just a little dazed, slow and calm and unafraid with Rhett looking down at him. “No, let’s go.” He forces himself to move his legs, to climb into the car, to buckle his seatbelt and keep his hands in his lap. Now is not the time to pick up the pace, to match the frantic kisses they shared at the beach last night. Now is not the time to reach out, to touch Rhett, to trace the seam on the inside of his thigh all the way up to the zipper. Now Link lets himself feel dazed, slow, and calm, unafraid with Rhett at his side. There is all the time in the world to think about what this means. There’s plenty of time for worry, for regret, for guilt. But now? Now is not the time for anything except for Link singing along with the radio and Rhett joining him halfway through each song. They always find a way to intertwine, be it hands or tongues or voices. And they sound good together, maybe even great, as they sing quietly along with Bon Jovi on the radio. It’s been too long since Link has heard his voice mingle with Rhett’s and he closes his eyes to lock the moment up inside his mind. 

They have an easy rhythm, Rhett and Link do. And they don’t have much but they do have this moment. 

Twenty minutes down the road Link sits across from Rhett at a round red table, the plastic sticky with sugar, Link’s hand curled around a bowl of ice cream. Rhett nurses his own, shoulders hunched as he eats, distracting Link by pointing over his shoulder to steal out of Link’s bowl. 

“Hey!” Link says as Rhett steals his third mouthful. “Leave mine alone, man!” He chases Rhett’s spoon away with his, plastic scraping plastic as Rhett chuckles in the middle of the nearly empty ice cream shop. 

“It just looks so good!” Rhett replies. “I’m sorry!” He goes back to his own bowl, looking everywhere but at Link, and the moment Link digs his spoon back into his ice cream Rhett’s spoon dives in after it. Giving in, Link lets Rhett scoop as much as he wants and he sits back, watching Rhett lick ice cream from the back of his spoon. The feeling of being not quite real lingers, Link halfway between the life he wants to live and the life he can’t stand up and leave behind. He likes it here, sunlight streaming through windows lined with Christmas lights. The strings of half burnt out white bulbs could be still hung up from last Christmas or hung anew for this one. Either way the lights cast a beautiful glow on Rhett, giving him a fuzzy sort of halo as he sits in front of them. “What’re you staring at?” Rhett asks, a knowing smirk dancing on his lips. Link used to hate that look, the one that said Rhett knew everything and was not afraid to tell Link so. Now it only serves to make him look young, the same cocky man he was back in college, back in high school. It makes it easier to talk to him, the lack of change in the faces he pulls when he thinks he knows it all. 

 

“You,” Link replies. 

“Me? Why?” He knows why; he has to know. He only wants to hear Link say it. Here, where nothing is real except the toes of Rhett’s sneakers tapping periodically at Link’s shins, it’s not too hard to say. 

“B’cause I love you,” Link says, plain and simple. Rhett lowers his eyes, playing coy, stirring his ice cream into soup with idle twists of his spoon. But he grows somber, smile slipping, and Link looks away when Rhett looks up again. 

“What are we _thinking_ , Link?” Rhett asks. Link busies himself with his own ice cream soup and tries to come up with a halfway decent reply. His inability to be understanding and to be kind almost caused him to lose Rhett. He has no intention of pushing him away again. 

“We’re thinking we’re lovesick teenagers,” Link replies. “But we’re not.”

“No,” Rhett says after a beat. Link can feel Rhett’s eyes boring into the top of his head as he bows it. “No, we’re not.”

“We have too many good things to give them all up for each other,” Link says. 

“Do we?”

“We have families, Rhett. Or did you forget?” Link glances sharply up at Rhett and back down at his bowl. Rhett has his eyes firmly planted on Link. 

“I couldn’t forget,” Rhett says. And then, “There were days I had no idea how I was going to live the rest of my life without you.”

“I’m sorry,” Link replies. 

“So’m I. I could have tried harder. I could have tried to make you stay. We just weren’t so good at loving each other as we thought we’d be.”

Link thinks back to all the times they got it right and he hates this, that time apart has stolen all those moments away. It was good; Rhett said so himself. It was so, so good. They were desperate for each other, hopeless, and Link never thought it fair. It was simply too much too late and there was nothing they could do to make it stay. 

“We were good at lovin’ each other, Rhett,” Link says. “Just not so good at all the other stuff.” Rhett laughs, low and soft, and Link’s mouth twitches up into a smile before he can stop it. 

“So talk to me,” Rhett says. “What makes this time different?” 

Link isn’t sure. 

“Maybe,” he says, shoving his ice cream away and leaning back to fold his arms across his chest, “this time I’ll be ready for you.” Rhett arches an eyebrow, a move he has perfected after ages spent trying in front of a mirror. 

“Where would we be now, then, if you were ready from the start?” Rhett tosses the question Link’s way like it doesn’t mean much, like he couldn’t care less what Link will say. But Link knows his mannerisms by heart, the things he does when he feigns disinterest rather than show he cares. Rhett has one hand on the back of his neck in phony nonchalance and the other taps a rapid beat on the tacky table. Link indulges him in the fantasy of a life they passed up. 

“We could be married,” Link says, Rhett stiffening in his seat. He sits ramrod straight, fingers stilling on top of the table. Link does not look at him and Rhett does not look at Link. But Rhett listens as Link speaks and Rhett’s attention is all Link can ask for. “We probably woulda gotten married as young as we could. You woulda proposed to me, of course. Granted, you probably woulda proposed to me starting from when we were kids. And I woulda said yes every time.”

Rhett plays along, the smile on his face evident in his voice. “No way, man,” he says. “You would have proposed to me. You’re the perfectionist, man, and you would have wanted it to be perfect. You’d’ve have it all planned out to the letter. Rose petals and wine and a picnic, the whole nine yards.” 

“Man, you really think I’d’ve been that mushy for you?” Link asks. “C’mon, I’m not the romantic one. You are. You always have been.” Rhett chuckles, a sound that sinks warm into the pit in Link’s stomach.

“Okay,” Rhett says. “So maybe I would have proposed to you. And we woulda gotten married on the beach. We would have written our own vows and gotten married on the freaking beach, Link, and everyone would have cried. Including you.”

“Me?!”

“Yes!” Rhett says, laughing, cutting off Link’s indignant protest. “But I would have, too, man! We both would have cried! You…” Rhett pauses. He clears his throat, fingers tapping at the table, and Link looks up to find him working his lip between his teeth. 

“What?” Link asks. 

“You looked so good on your wedding day, Link,” Rhett says. “I was going to tell you that. Even with your stupid haircut and everything. You looked good and I shoulda told you. But I got distracted and I forgot and by the time I remembered you were gone. And I thought to myself…I thought long and hard about it, and I was happy for you. But there was this part of me that couldn’t help but think…”

“What if it had been you,” Link finishes. 

“Yeah,” Rhett says lamely. “What if it had been me up there with you instead.” 

“We couldn’t have,” Link says, just to make sense of the longing sticking like taffy to the back of his throat. “It wouldn’t have been legal yet. We woulda had to wait all this…” Rhett clicks his tongue, bemused exasperation all over his face.

“I don’t think gay marriage laws matter much in games of what-if, Link.” Link flits his eyes across the shop without meaning to and Rhett frowns, brow furrowing, as he watches. “What?” he asks. “Is that word too much for you?” 

“Of course not,” Link says, but Rhett has to know it is. Loving Rhett is one thing. Labeling the way they love one another? That is something entirely different and entirely too much. Rhett watches Link with bright eyes and Link shifts in his seat, bowing his head. 

“Link,” Rhett says, gentle. “Tell me exactly what it is you’re so afraid of. Maybe, if I know, I can make it better for you. Maybe I can make it go away.” And that’s typical Rhett, looking to heal, looking to repair. Link should be grateful. He knows that. But instead he snaps, speaking to the table instead of Rhett.

“You can’t make anything better, Rhett,” he says. “Not when you’re the one screwin’ everything up.” He’s sorry the moment he says it and he shakes his head, hopeless. 

“Don’t say horrible things and expect me to run the other way,” Rhett says. “I know you better than that. If you want me out of your life, say it. I’m done letting you get away with shoving me out the door.” He gets up out of his chair, metal scraping the tile floor, and Link waits as he scoops both empty ice cream bowls off the table and throws them away. Link drops his head to the table, heedless of the stickiness of the plastic, and Rhett plunks back into his chair. After a moment Rhett scooches his chair closer, once and then again, and his hand lands light on the back of Link’s neck. Link stiffens. “Tell me, now,” Rhett says, a plea instead of an order. “What makes this time different, Link? What makes this time the right time?” His fingertips slip under the collar of Link’s shirt, rubbing at the notches of his spine. Link sits limp in his seat, his hands slack on either side of his head. With his free hand, Rhett brushes his fingers along each of Link’s knuckles. All at once Link feels like crying. 

“What if there is no right time?” he asks the table. “What if we let the right time pass us by?” (The last time he felt like this was the very first time, the first time he and Rhett made love. It was the same panic, the same constricting fear, the same worry that the first time would also be the only.) Instead of answering the question Rhett slides his hand from the back of Link’s neck and buries his fingers in Link’s hair. 

“Let’s get outta here,” he murmurs, leaning across the table to whisper in Link’s ear. So maybe Rhett has the same yearning to escape as Link. The only difference is wherever Rhett goes, he wants nothing more than for Link to follow. Link gets up and he follows Rhett out of the shop, out from under the feeble glow of old or new Christmas lights. He follows Rhett back out into the sunlight, out to the car, and Rhett’s hand is tacky from sugar as he slips it into Link’s. (They held hands like this as children, on field trips, in the woods, giving boosts over rocks and fences and hedges. One hand or the other was always sticky like this, be it with sweat or salt or sugar.) Link swallows hard and lets his hand get swallowed whole by Rhett’s. When did the difference in size between their fingers start making Link so lightheaded? 

In the car Link looks out the window at the world passing him by. They head away from home, still, in the wrong direction. It’s nothing new to Link; his life has been heading in the wrong direction since the first time he told Rhett he hated him. Link doesn’t ask Rhett a thing. He lets his best friend drive, Blue Oyster Cult on the radio, the lyrics mimicking the thoughts chasing each other around Link’s head: _I’m burning for you_. It should be easy to touch Rhett. He has touched him a thousand times before. It should be easy to love him. But what makes this time any different? Link kicks his feet up on the dashboard and tries to ignore the truth: nothing at all. They are the same boys with the same hearts, the same men with the same families. Who says they get another chance to get it right? 

“You really wanna know what I’m scared of?” Link asks even though every part of him doesn’t want to tell. 

“Yeah, man,” Rhett says. “It wouldn’t kill ya to let me into that brain of yours.”

“It might,” Link replies, but he squares his shoulders and looks straight ahead. The road looks the same everywhere, be it North Carolina or Texas or California or all the places they have been in between. They could be at home; they could be in another world. But Link stares straight ahead and he says, “I’m scared we’ll do everything right and still find that we were wrong.” Whatever world he lives in, at least Link shares it with Rhett. He couldn’t ask for anything else. 

“We’re not wrong,” Rhett says, stern, both hands tight on the steering wheel. 

“Then why does it feel so wrong?” Link asks. 

“Because we built our lives around each other,” Rhett says, drumming the wheel, “and then we built news lives around them.”

“You said you’d’ve given up your family,” Link says. “If I asked you to.” Rhett thinks for a moment, his eyes on the road, his mind somewhere else. Link has the feeling his is in the same place. 

“Yes,” Rhett says in the end. “I woulda traded everything I have if it meant I got to keep you.” 

Link tells the truth. “That’s awful, Rhett.”

“I know.” Guilt is not a pretty look on Rhett; with his mouth tight and his jaw set hard he looks a different person than the man Link knows and loves and cherishes. He looks like a man who has no idea where he’s going or why he’s going there. Link knows because he feels the same. And all they can do is wait for the crash when they get there. 

The two of them quiet, listening to the radio and the steady beat of rain as it begins. It dances on the roof of the car, Rhett flicking the wiper blades on, and thunder rumbles from far away. The clouds came in too fast for Link to take notice and the pace of the storm surprises him. It hardly storms in Los Angeles and the threat of a looming thunderstorm makes Link hungry for home. There’s a certain stickiness to the air in North Carolina, a thickness to the ozone that California lacks. For a wild moment Link dreams of turning to Rhett and asking him to drive them home. To drive them all the way to Buies Creek where they can stay and hide and conjure up a plan to try and make this right. Rhett glances his way and the same hunger is echoed in his eyes, the same burning desire to be far away from here. 

“We can’t,” Rhett says before Link gets the chance to ask. 

“I know,” he replies. The rain starts out slow and then it comes down in buckets, the windshield wipers squeaking frantic on the glass to keep up. Rhett leans far over the steering wheel, eyes focused on the road as it blurs long before them. If he were driving Link would be uneasy, on edge, but he trusts Rhett even as lightning bisects the horizon. He has trusted Rhett through worse. 

“You have no idea,” Rhett says to the open road, “how badly I want to keep driving forever. I wanna take you with me and I don’t ever wanna have to let you go. You have no _idea_.” To accentuate his point he smacks at the steering wheel, once, twice. 

“I do,” Link counters. Rhett’s eyes flick up as lightning hits the ground, striking far off in the distance and vanishing. The storm gives him a faraway look, a look Link knows well. He is no longer with Link. He’s somewhere else entirely.

“What would happen,” Rhett begins, “if we just kept going?” Link should cut Rhett off. He should remind Rhett they can’t, they could never, they will not. Instead, he looks at Rhett and spins a story to make him smile. 

“We would have to do a lot of shopping,” Link says, Rhett’s eyebrow quirking up at the beginning. “Hear me out.” Rhett gives him a nod, the smile on his lips unmistakable. Rhett is ready to hear any story Link has to tell. So he tells it. “We would have to fold the backseats down so we could make it our bed. So we’d shove the seats down and we’d go buy sleeping bags, the kind that are for, y’know, below freezing. You know the ones?”

“Yeah,” Rhett smiles. “I know the ones.”

“Okay, good. We’ll need two, obviously.”

“Oh, obviously.” 

“We’ll buy two just as a cover, and then maybe once we actually get back there we’ll just zip them up together. And we’ll need a generator, and a way to wash our clothes, and some of those straw things we used to have that filter out bad water.”

“Life Straws!” Rhett chuckles, shaking his head at the memories of the ludicrous ideas they had. “Did we really throw those out when we emptied the…” He pauses. Link leans back in his seat to watch the smile slide from Rhett’s face, lightning casting shadows under his eyes. “When we emptied the studio,” he finishes. A flash of memories lights up Rhett’s face like the lightning outside the car and it’s right there in Link’s mind, too, like it happened a week ago instead of a year. 

They had not said a word to one another all day. 

They helped pack and stuff things into boxes, all the useless trinkets and toys and instruments. They threw artwork into cardboard boxes and they tore down lights. Link stared at Rhett’s back and the way he arched his spine, grimacing in pain from lifting something too heavy. He wanted desperately to help him, to touch a hand to the sore spots on Rhett’s spine, to ease the pain away. He wanted to close his arms around Rhett’s middle from behind and press his chin into the nape of Rhett’s neck. Instead he watched Stevie go to Rhett instead, bouncing a heat pack in both hands, passing it into Rhett’s. 

“Take a break, Rhett,” Stevie said, quiet, and Rhett nodded. He loped away, head down, moving slow. Link did not miss the reproachful look Stevie tossed his way as Rhett shuffled like an old man from the room. 

“What?” Link asked. She looked at him like she saw right through him to his soul, all the way to the very bottom, and she hated what she saw. Link shifted uncomfortably under her gaze, busying himself with a tangled string of lights. 

“You two are going to be okay,” Stevie said like she was sure. She always spoke like she was sure. She craned her neck to look up at Link, eyes wide. “You know that, don’t you?”

“Stevie…” Link said. 

“You are. You’re always okay. You’re going to get through this, Link, and guess what? I can’t speak for everyone but I will be here waiting for you when you do. Got it?” She smiled, a sly little thing, so certain. Link did not have it in him to deny her anything, be it hope or a vision of a far off tomorrow. 

“Thank you, Stevie,” he said. And then, “For everything.” The hug she gave him hurt, her arms too tight around his middle, but he squeezed her back and then he let her go. He let all of them go. 

“Are we ever going to get it back?” Rhett asks at Link’s side, glancing sideways at Link instead of out into the rain. Link doesn’t have to ask what he means. 

“Dunno,” he replies. “Do we want it all back?” Rhett thinks about it for a moment, the pattering of rain on the roof the only thing Link hears. In the end he shakes his head.

“That’s a really good question, Link,” he says. “We can’t just wait around in limbo forever, can we? Not doing anything, just coasting on what we used to have? We’ll have to get off our asses and do something eventually.” Link picks up on the plural, the obvious we, and how they survived so long as two separate halves is almost unfathomable. 

“We,” he says, just to say it, and Rhett shoots another glance his way. 

“We,” Rhett agrees. He smiles, beautiful, and he pokes his tongue out to lick at his lips, a mindless habit. The sudden urge to lick those lips himself strikes Link deep in his chest. The right thing to do would be ignore it. The better thing to do would be confessing his feelings, screaming them out loud to his wife, to Rhett. But when has Link ever been capable of doing the right thing? Instead of keeping his head down, his hands in his lap, Link does the worst thing he could do. He reaches for Rhett. First his fingers are timid, gentle on the seam on the inside of Rhett’s knee, the denim cool. Then his hand follows, sliding up, squeezing, Link’s palm on Rhett’s thigh. Rhett stays still as stone. He’s warm, though, nothing like the statuesque picture he tries to paint in utter stillness. He can’t fool Link. He’s warm and he’s here and he’s real. And so is Link. 

“I…” Link says, voice thick. He clears his throat and tries again. “I missed being _we_. It’s too hard bein’ just _me_.” The weight of the world rests on him, on the version of him who spent a year standing alone. With Rhett he has someone to lean on, someone who can carry him when he needs it, and God, how did he live so long without the feel of Rhett’s skin burning through the denim of his jeans? And God, if there is no right way to do things, what’s wrong with doing it all wrong? 

“I hear you, brother,” Rhett says. His voice is husky, deep, his eyes leaving the road to flick down to Link’s hand. Link flexes his fingers and watches Rhett squirm. He revels in it, fear evaporating. It gets replaced with something entirely different. It’s been too long, too many days and nights spent apart. It’s been too long, all the times Link wished he was sleeping with Rhett at his side. They only stole a few nights together, back last summer, when they had to travel for work. Link can count them on one hand. The two of them shared a hotel bed far away from home and Rhett kept Link in bed as long as he could, pulling him back when he tried to rise. 

“Act like it’s the last time,” he said every time, devilish as he held tight to Link, shirtless and mussed up and beautiful. Every time they fell asleep together it felt like the end of the world. And every morning Link woke up with Rhett’s face pressed between his shoulder blades felt like trying to rebuild. 

“You know how sometimes,” Link begins, tracing a meaningless pattern on the seam of Rhett’s jeans with two fingers, “we would run away together to work on something? How sometimes the only way to get things done was to get away from everyone else and do it?”

“Yeah,” Rhett says, like he knows what Link is thinking. That’s a good thing. At least one of them does. “Why?”

“I was just thinking,” Link says. 

“Dangerous,” Rhett replies.

“Shuddup. I was thinking that we have a lot of thinking to do.”

“We do.”

“And nowhere to do it.”

“That’s right.” 

“What if I asked you,” Link says, “to run away with me? Right now?” He pinches at the inside of Rhett’s thigh and he jerks it away, hand flying to cover Link’s while the other grips the steering wheel. Rhett’s palm is damp with sweat but Link could not care less. At least his hand is warm. It feels nice, blanketing Link’s, keeping him from doing any permanent damage to Rhett in terms of bruises or broken skin. 

“I would go,” Rhett replies. “And I would stay with you. As long as you would have me.” 

“Your family?”

“They know how lost I’ve been without you,” Rhett says. Blunt. Sharp. “They would never resent me a night or two away to fix whatever the hell they think is broken between us.” 

“Oh,” Link says. 

“Would yours?”

“I don’t know.” And then, “Can we even fix what’s broken?” He wants Rhett to say no, no they can’t, they are broken beyond repair and they need to move on. They need to move apart, to stay away from one another, to stay safe and happy in the real world with the families that love them. But more than that he wants Rhett to say yes. They can build back everything they tore apart. They can make a triumphant return, they can start making things again, and they can do it all without hurting each other like they have done all year. (After spending so much time dismantling, how would they even start repairing and pull back together?) 

“If you tell me what to do,” Rhett says. He lets go of Link’s hand and claps it back on the wheel, holding tight. “If you tell me what you need and what you want. If you’re honest. I can give it to you.” Link’s hand travels up Rhett’s thigh and Rhett stays still as stone. 

“Jessie…” 

“Link, listen.” He does. “Jessie is…she’s amazing. She’s been my whole world for so, so long. But you have to realize. She’s not you. And when I realized…when I figured out what I wanted, and that it wasn’t her...Link, I tried so hard. I tried to convince myself I was wrong, that what I felt would go away, that I needed to shut up and man up and treat my wife the way she deserved. But then I told her, Link, that it was always you. And you know what she said to me? She _knew_. She looked at me like she hated me, like she wanted to hit me. Like she was going to tell me to go to hell. But after that, after she calmed down, she told me she knew. She knew she had to share me with you; she knew from the beginning. But y’know what else she said? She wasn’t goin’ anywhere. She wanted to stay with me, for some unimaginable reason, and she wanted to stay a family. She wanted me to be there for the boys. And she loved me, still, she said, and if I still loved her despite bein’ so beat up over you…then she wanted me to stay. So I did. Because I love her so much, even after everything, and I couldn’t imagine losing you and then her. I couldn’t lose you both.” He speaks without bitterness, without anger, but what does fill his voice fills Link with sorrow. He speaks like a man who has lost everything. And because of Link, he is. 

“I’m sorry,” Link says, but Rhett shakes his head. 

“She told me it was okay,” he says like he knows it’s not. “That I was allowed to have my heart in two places at once. When did I do anything to deserve that, Link? She’s perfect, and she chose me, and I screwed up her life. I ruined everything, and she still loves me. Why is that?”

“I still love you, too,” Link says, quiet, even though it’s not the time. Even though Rhett is torn in two, agonized over his wife, Link can’t help but be selfish. He loves Rhett, too, after everything Rhett did to him. After Rhett loved him and held him and then tried to rip it all away. Of course Jessie still loves him. Rhett does that to people. He loves them too much, he loves wholly and with utter reverence, and the thought of losing Rhett’s heart is too much to bear. For his part, Link is bitter enough for the two of them. He should have a talk with Jessie; he should tell her he knows just how she feels. But Link puts the angry and jealous and burning parts of himself away, tucking it into the back of his head, and he focuses everything on the tips of his fingers. Rhett hisses in pain as Link digs in too deep, fingernails buried in the seam of Rhett’s jeans. 

“Ow,” Rhett says through his teeth. “I know you do. You don’t have to draw blood to prove it.” 

“I don’t?” They drew blood a long time ago, a blood oath that made them brothers for life. But maybe they don’t need that kind of proof anymore. Maybe it’s good enough simply to know. 

“You don’t.” Link’s hand glides up and Rhett stops it close to the zipper of his jeans. Link has no plan, no idea where his hand was going to go if Rhett did not scoop it up and bring it to his lips. Rhett kisses the back of Link’s hand, his beard tickling, and he nuzzles into the touch as Link turns his hand to cup Rhett’s jaw. “It’s not so simple,” Link says, rubbing a circle with his thumb into the spot behind Rhett’s ear. “Not with Christy.”

“I know,” Rhett says. “I understand.” 

“That’s a lie.” 

“No, I understand,” Rhett says. “I get it. But that doesn’t mean I have to like it. Maybe it’d be better for you if you told me again you never wanted to see me as long as you lived. Because I can’t tell you honestly I’m going to do anything but try and change your mind.” Link swallows around the rising lump in his throat. 

“What if you can’t?”

“I can wait.”

“And if I can’t give you everything?”

“I’ll still be here.”

“Why?”

“Is it that hard for you to believe that I missed you? That I thought about you, and dreamed about you, and wanted you every freaking day? That I want you, that I think about you, that I _dream_ that maybe someday we’ll get what we want? Well…what I want.” Rhett shifts, finally moving to prove he’s no statue, not made of stone. Through the sound of the pouring rain Link listens to him breathe. 

“Oh, Rhett,” Link says. Rhett looks at him. “You hafta know I want you, too. Haven’t I said it enough times by now?”

“But you want your family more. And I’m not going to stand between you and them.” 

It’s too much. The threat of losing Christy, his children, the home he made his own. It’s too much, Rhett’s face turned towards him. And it’s too much, the rain on the roof that makes it hard to speak. Being torn apart is half as easy as it sounds. 

“You’ll stay,” Link says, the worst man in the world. “In the meantime. You’ll stay with me. Until I figure it out.” He never has been one for selflessness. 

“Yes,” Rhett replies. And there it is. Link surges up out of his seat, choking as his seatbelt pulls him back, but he rips it off to lean across the center console on his knees. Rhett meets him there, placing a kiss on Link’s lips that feels it could bruise. 

“I’m sorry,” Link says. He kisses Rhett’s face as he turns it away to watch the road, a smile playing on his pinkened lips. “I’m sorry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For something to listen to, the song Link hears on the radio is Blue Oyster Cult's Burnin' For You, and the chapter is based on the song Last Leaf by OK Go. Sorry if these songs hurt a bit; it's all part of the fun :)
> 
> Come talk to me on tumblr @ reedytenors <3


	6. It's A Long Way But I'm Coming Home

Link calls his wife. He finds her number right where it always is, number one in his recent calls, and he presses the phone to his ear. It rings once, twice, and Link follows Rhett with his eyes. Rhett pulled off the highway as the sun sank low in the sky and he pulled into the parking lot of the first hotel they found. Now he wanders the lot, roaming as he talks to Jessie, shoulders hunched as he tells her he’s not coming home. For tonight, he belongs to Link. 

The phone rings three times, four, and Christy does not pick up. Link waits, tapping his sneakers on the pavement, for her voicemail message to end. 

“…and I’ll call you back,” her voice says, and Link is glad he missed her. He’s glad, for the moment, that he can spill his guts to a recording of his wife and not the real thing. For the moment he can be a coward. 

“Hey, Christy,” Link says, fingers tight on his phone. “I’m…I’m not gonna make it home tonight. I’m…I’m with Rhett. We’ve just got some, uh.” He clears his throat, struggling to speak even to a robotic rendering of his wife’s voice. “We’ve got some catching up to do. And a lot of things to talk about.” He pauses. “Call me back when you get this,” he says. “I just wanna hear your voice. I’m sorry. I’ll see you tomorrow, all right? Tell the kids I say goodnight.” Link looks up, watching Rhett from across the almost vacant lot of the hotel. He look small from here, impossibly small, insignificant. But Link knows better: Rhett is everything. “I love you,” he says into the phone. “Bye.” His hands shake as he hangs up the phone, hard enough for him to drop it when he tries to slip it into his pocket. Rhett’s head shoots up as Link swears, his phone clattering to the pavement, and Link scoops it up to find a spider web of cracks across the screen. “Shit,” he sighs. “ _Shit_.” But Rhett watches him now, staring as he speaks into his phone, too far to read the expression on his face. Link slips his broken phone into the back pocket of his jeans and starts the long walk to Rhett’s side. 

“I know,” Rhett says. “I know. No, I know.” He keeps his eyes locked on Link as he gets closer, taking long strides. He has years of practice in walking fast, hurrying and scurrying to keep up with Rhett. It’s nothing new to him. “Jess, I hear you,” Rhett says. “No, I won’t.” Link reaches him, not slowing down, slamming into Rhett and burying his face in Rhett’s chest. He listens to the steady beat of Rhett’s heart and the rumble of his voice as he speaks to his wife. Rhett pauses, listening, and he winds one arm around Link’s shoulders. He squeezes, dragging Link closer. This close Link can almost hear Jessie speaking on the other line. All he can hear is the tinny sound of her voice, muffled, and the speed at which she speaks. Link fights back a surge of gratitude that he evaded the same sort of panicked scolding from his own wife for the time being. 

“Jessie, I know,” Rhett says one more time. “Thank you. I love you, too.” Link throws his arms around Rhett’s middle as the last three words leave his lips, like Link can stake his claim on Rhett simply by being the one who gets to hold him. It’s a silly, fleeting notion, but he clings to it just the same. He grips the back of Rhett’s T-shirt in both hands, twisting them in so Rhett can’t twist away. For Rhett’s part, he doesn’t try. He hangs up the phone and without a word he props his chin up on the top of Link’s head. They stand wound together in the middle of the parking lot for a long, heavy moment, Rhett’s chin sharp and his arms warm. Link keeps his mouth shut for once. When did speaking ever make anything better? At the very least, if they have nothing else, they have this moment. And Link is not about to give it up. He lets Rhett make the choice to pull away, to pry Link off his chest. But Rhett doesn’t do it. Instead he presses a kiss into Link’s hair, a simple gesture that means nothing simple at all. 

“I love you,” Link says. He leans hard on Rhett, like he has done more times than he can count, and Rhett holds him. He’s steady and warm and not going anywhere. (How did Link get so lucky as to call this man his in any way at all?) 

“I know,” Rhett replies. He buries his nose in Link’s hair and inhales, something he used to do last summer in the last moments they had before parting. He would breathe Link in, he would breathe everything else out, and he would tell Link, “It’s easier to leave you knowing you’ll still be the same in the mornin’.” Link never knew quite what he meant. But now, he thinks he might understand. “Whaddya say we get a room?” 

Ten minutes and one trip to the lobby vending machine later, Rhett opens the door to their room for the night with his arms laden down with toothbrushes, toothpaste, and a dinner of fruit snacks and Cheetos. Link follows him, darting into the room and coming back out to slip the DO NOT DISTURB sign over the doorknob. Rhett has the lights on by the time Link returns. He looks good even in the sallow yellow light of the bedside lamps, one on each side of the king sized bed. Rhett rips into a bag of fruit snacks with his teeth and spits out the plastic as Link flops gracelessly onto the bed at Rhett’s side. The comforter smells musty and the scent tickles Link’s nose, the beginnings of a tension headache building there. He ignores it. He ignores a world of things for Rhett, his best friend munching gummies like a child beside him. 

“Gimme,” Link says, rolling onto his back and opening his mouth wide. Chuckling, the most beautiful smile on his lips, Rhett obliges. He scoops gummies from the bag in his hand and drops them into Link’s mouth, one after the other. From this angle Link can see straight up Rhett’s nose. But Rhett still looks gorgeous. He still looks perfect, hunched over a bag of fruit snacks, making obscene chewing noises as he eats. He still looks perfect. And Link loves him so much he might let it kill him. 

Link folds his hands over his chest, lying on his back like a vampire, and he does nothing but chew and watch Rhett do the same for a while. It takes no convincing at all when Link makes the first move. He picks a red strawberry shaped gummy from the bag, sticking it between his teeth, and he jabs with one finger at Rhett’s ribs. 

“What?” Rhett asks, bemused, looking sideways down at Link. 

“Take it from me,” Link garbles through closed teeth. “This one’s yours.” Like he has been waiting all his life, Rhett obeys. He leans down, careful not to twist his back, and he tries to take the candy from between Link’s teeth. At the last moment Link pulls it into his mouth, teasing, and it should surprise him when Rhett chases it. But it doesn’t. Rhett presses his lips to Link’s, licking his way into Link’s mouth, and he pulls back with the candy in his own mouth, triumphant. All Link can do is lie still, dazed, the heat of Rhett’s mouth going all the way down to his stomach. Rhett chews with a smile on his face, eyes shining. “Dang, Rhett,” Link says. 

“What?”

Link tosses his glasses aside, throwing both hands over his face and groaning into his palms. 

“What is it, Link?” The concern in Rhett’s voice is too much, his question painted with worry. 

“It’s just I’m never gonna stop wanting you,” he says. 

“Is that a bad thing?”

“Yeah,” Link sighs into his hands. “And no.” 

“Lemme talk to the guy who thinks it’s a good thing,” Rhett says, his fingertips landing light on the backs of Link’s hands. 

“He’s too busy being yelled at by the guy who’s married to the best girl in the world,” Link replies, and Rhett’s hands disappear. Link hardly has time to mourn the loss before they touch down lightly on his wrists. 

“Link, let me look at you,” Rhett breathes.

“No.”

“Come on, man, lemme see those baby blues.” Rhett tugs on Link’s wrists, trying to pull his hands away from his face. Link resists. “Link,” Rhett says, and the tone of his voice changes. It slides from playful to something a little less coy. 

“What?” he asks.

“Why d’you always feel the need to hide from me? I’m the last person you should wanna hide from. It’s been you and me forever, man. Just you and me. Why’re you so insistent on hiding away now?” 

“I’m not,” Link says, lifting his hands to prove his point, and the moment he does so Rhett is on him. He takes Link’s wrists in one big hand and he pins them over his head, looming over Link with a devilish smiling playing on his lips. Up close he is nothing short of breathtaking. “Hi,” Link says. 

“Hey,” Rhett replies. And then, “Link…do you mind if I kiss you?” Link opens his mouth to tell him yes, please, of course, but Rhett goes on. “Because once I start I don’t think I’ll ever wanna stop.” The admission, given in utter sincerity, gives Link pause. 

“Okay,” he says. “Okay.” Rhett moves fast, heedless of his perpetually sore back, straddling Link’s hips. He holds tight to Link’s wrists, his arms beginning to ache from being held over his head, but Link has it bad for the slow burn of losing feeling in his fingers. For a heartbeat Rhett does nothing but stare down at Link, adoration in his eyes, and Link has a fleeting moment of panic. _I will never be able to love him as wholly as he loves me_. He ignores it in favor of less complicated feelings. He surges up to press a kiss to Rhett’s lips, tasting the cloying sweetness of artificial strawberry. Rhett returns it with equal fervor. Link lowers back down to the hard hotel mattress and Rhett follows him, mouth warm and gentle and sure. It’s the surety that gets to Link; Rhett wants him and more than that Rhett is not afraid of what wanting Link entails. 

What Link wouldn’t give to be half as sure. 

Rhett presses soft kisses to Link’s cheeks, to his jaw, and the familiar burn of Rhett’s beard on his skin is something he has never gotten over. With the hand not pinning Link to the bed, Rhett flattens his palm over Link’s heart. It’s a simple gesture, something small, but he has done it only one other time. He did it the first time. He pressed his hand to Link’s heart, reverent, awed, and he held it there as Link stared up at him, just like this. 

“I’m alive,” Link said, like that was what Rhett was looking for. 

“I know,” Rhett replied.

“Then what…?”

“I know this heart so well,” Rhett said, his hand heavy on Link’s chest. “But I feel like I’m feeling it for the first time.” His hands shook and he let them, unabashed, not ashamed of the fear evident in every quivering part of his body. 

“It’s the same heart I’ve always had,” Link said. 

“I know,” Rhett replied. 

“Then quit bein’ so afraid,” Link said like he had any room to talk. “It’s just me.” And Rhett frowned, Link’s heart thumping against his palm. 

“Just you,” he echoed. “The same you you’ve always been.”

“Tha’s right.” Link blinked up at Rhett, unsure, scared out of his mind Rhett was about to change his. They didn’t do much talking, that was all; they touched and they felt and they pleaded with one another to touch and feel some more. And more led to Link lying on his back, fully clothed, Rhett half on top of him in a squeaky hotel bed. Link had no idea what the moment meant. All he knew was he wanted it, he wanted Rhett, and Rhett hesitated for the first time. 

“What’s going to happen,” Rhett said, because in the end Rhett always voiced the tougher things, “when we wake up in the morning? If you’re the same and I’m the same. If…if this is the only thing that’s different. What does that mean for us?” The two of them circled each other for weeks, Link’s kiss the catalyst, and Link felt there was not much for them to say. It was simple, wasn’t it? They could kiss and they could touch; they could hold one another and strip off clothes and explore all the places they had never been. But in a secluded hotel room far from home they sat teetering on the point of no return. There was no going back from the moment that waited before them, just beyond their reach. 

Despite the heat building in his chest, in his guts, in his head, Link tried to say something wise. But just like every other time, it came out sounding wrong. “If you still love me in the morning,” he said, watching Rhett’s eyes widen, “we’ll be fine.” He meant to say more; he wanted to say so much more. He should have said he loved Rhett, too, and he was never going to stop loving him. What was there to be afraid of if they promised, if they swore, to love each other for as long as they could? He meant to say that, to tell Rhett he loved him without so many words, but Rhett planted a kiss on his lips that shook every word from the tip of his tongue. 

“I’ll love you every morning,” Rhett said when he pulled away. “For the rest of my life.” 

Now, pressing Link to the mattress, Rhett peppers Link’s face with kisses until the tickling gets to his head. “Cut it out,” Link laughs, Rhett’s mouth on the side of his jaw. 

“I missed you,” Rhett replies, voice low. “I missed you so much.” Finally, blessedly, Rhett lets go of Link’s wrists. His shoulder aching and hands numb, Link flies his fingertips up and down Rhett’s arms. Rhett hums as Link locks his hands at the nape of Rhett’s neck, keeping him close. 

“I’m sorry,” Link mutters, shivering as Rhett mouths at the spot behind his ear. “I’m sorry, Rhett, I’m sorry.”

“What for?” Rhett breathes, breath hot on the side of Link’s neck. And Link thinks he could die happy here, warm with Rhett’s hands and mouth all over him, but not without saying something real. Not before he can make amends.

“For makin’ you miss me,” he replies. “I shouldn’t have…I should have tried…” It’s hard to speak and harder to form coherent thought with Rhett’s big hands landing light on places they have not touched in a year. Link remembers every touch (Rhett’s hands ghost over every part of him and the feeling is not something he would ever let himself forget) but being touched like this feels like the first time. 

“It’s okay,” Rhett says. “Hey, it’s okay. You’re okay, Link. You’re with me.” He speaks like his presence is all Link could need to be all right. For a long while last year Link let himself believe it might be. Now he knows for sure. For now, right here, it can be enough. 

“I love you,” Link says, and Rhett smiles against his skin. 

“I know, baby,” he says. “I know.” 

“Baby,” Link marvels. Rhett used to call him that, in the middle of last summer, the endearment slipping out and Rhett turning red as Link reveled. Now it slips out just the same, Rhett dropping his face into the crook of Link’s neck and keeping it there. 

“Yeah,” Rhett mumbles, his weight on Link’s chest. “Yeah. Baby.” He makes a noise in the back of his throat, a question in the way he quirks his voice up. “Hmm?” 

“Okay,” Link replies, his hands in Rhett’s soft honey hair. “Okay, baby; okay, honey; okay, darling.” He teases mercilessly and Rhett begins to chuckle, laughing into the soft spot at the hollow of Link’s throat, heedless of the weight he presses on him. It’s all right. Link would lie here squashed beneath Rhett forever. “Okay, sweetheart; okay, dear…” Link presses a kiss into Rhett’s hair, the whole bed shaking with the force of Rhett’s laughter. His hands have stilled and so have Link’s, buried in Rhett’s hair. Link can’t help but laugh along with Rhett; his deep, rumbling laughter has always seeped deep into Link’s bones. 

The sound of Link’s phone ringing saves him from saying what he wants to: God, you’re everything. Instead he shifts, trying fruitlessly to get Rhett off him, Rhett quieting as he pins Link down. 

“Rhett, it might be…”

“Christy,” Rhett finishes for him as the shrill shrieking of the phone tinkles on. 

“I have to answer.”

“Please,” Rhett replies. It wouldn’t take a man smarter than Link to know what he begs. He, like Link, would do anything to keep this moment from ending. So despite himself, despite the clamoring in his head to think before he ruins everything, Link does nothing at all. He lets Rhett pin him to the bed, heavy and hot, and he lets the phone ring, three times, four. And he lets it go silent. 

“I’m the worst man alive,” Link says in the echoing quiet.

“You’re the best,” Rhett replies. “The best in the world.” 

“Show me,” Link breathes. “Can you show me?” 

“Of course.” Link’s phone beeps from across the room, dutifully informing him of a waiting voicemail. He wishes it wouldn’t. “Ignore it,” Rhett says. “I’m here. And so are you. Nothin’ else matters.” 

“It will tomorrow,” Link says, but Rhett quiets him with one touch. He slides his hand up under Link’s shirt, his palm warm on Link’s belly. 

“You’re okay,” Rhett says. “I promise.” Rhett’s mouth at Link’s ear, his hand exploring all the soft spaces he’s missed, Link wants to believe him. The next thing Rhett growls in his ear is what pushes him over the edge. “Lemme getcha out of those clothes.” Rhett helps Link out of his T-shirt without any of the franticness of the first time, without any of the fear. Because the first time could have ruined them; the first time could have been the last. Now they know each other. Rhett knows Link’s body, splaying big hands over Link’s ribs. And Link knows his, dragging Rhett’s shirt over his head and waiting for Rhett to return to him. He does, he always does, dropping tender kisses to Link’s collarbone. Skin to skin Link feels all right; he slides his hands down the slope of Rhett’s back and pulls him closer. Rhett grunts, exhaling sharply in the curve of Link’s throat. Whether it’s from pain or the friction in his jeans, the sound sends a shiver down Link’s spine. He tries to speak, to ask for more, and as his mouth falls open Rhett’s glides one hand downwards. Rhett dances his fingers down each of Link’s ribs, slow and deliberate and sure, and Link gasps as Rhett slips them into the waistband of his jeans. He bucks up into the touch, helpless, and Rhett smiles into the hollow of Link’s throat. 

“Missed you…” Rhett breathes again, soothing Link’s racing heart with simple, easy words. “Missed you, missed you…” He pops open the button of Link’s jeans and slides down the zipper, well-practiced and familiar, Link’s hands opening and closing uselessly on the notches of Rhett’s spine. Link squeezes his eyes shut, every touch of Rhett’s hands a story he wants to memorize. His skin is on fire, Rhett’s fingertips leaving heat in every place they touch down. Rhett missed him; Rhett missed him so much he thought it might end him. Link knows because he feels the same. To think he could have lived and breathed and loved and died without ever feeling this again…Link shudders, goosebumps rising on his exposed skin. To think he let this slip away, to think he let Rhett walk away from him…Rhett gasps aloud as Link’s fingernails dig into the nape of his neck. 

“What is it?” Rhett asks, his voice a whisper. His mouth leaves the side of Link’s throat and then Rhett is looking down at him, the tips of their noses almost brushing, Rhett’s smile radiant under the shoddy hotel lights. 

“I won’t let you leave me ever again,” Link admits, brave in the aftermath of Rhett’s fingers on his face and Rhett’s mouth on his neck. 

“Link,” Rhett says, eyes impossibly soft. “I wouldn’t dream of trying.”

The admission is enough for Link: they have been through the worst of it. There simply cannot be anything worse ahead than what they leave behind here on a hard and damask hotel bed. And there is nothing better than this. There simple cannot be. Link tosses his head back as Rhett licks and nips and kisses his way down Link’s chest, careful and slow. (It doesn’t slip by Link, Rhett’s attention to not leaving his mark.) Rhett’s beard scratches at Link’s belly as he makes his way down, hands everywhere and tongue hot. There cannot be this much heat in the whole world, never mind in the soft grazing of Rhett’s lips. But it’s here, it’s all over Link, and he is startled to find tears burning just as hotly in the backs of his eyes. It isn’t until they fall, slipping down Link’s temples and into his ears, that Rhett pauses. 

“Link,” he says, chin propped on Link’s hipbone. “Link, what’s wrong?” His hands go still, splayed carefully across Link’s ribs. He tries to still, anyhow. Link catches the tremor in the tips of his fingers. 

“Nothin’,” Link tries. He swipes at both eyes with the back of his hand, embarrassed, and when he’s mopped up most of the meaningless tears he drops his hand into Rhett’s mussed up hair. “I love you; it’s nothin’.” 

“Why’re you crying?” Rhett’s eyes shine, wide with concern, as he looks up at Link through long, long eyelashes. 

“’M not. I’m okay. I love you; I’m okay.” He says it like a prayer, like a plea, and he shivers as Rhett dips his head and presses a lingering kiss to one jutting hipbone. He tightens his fingers in Rhett’s hair but he keeps himself from pulling. The moment can only stretch so long before it snaps and bends and breaks and Link is not going to be the one to cause it. He and Rhett teeter at the front of a line of dominos and sooner or later one of them is going to fall and cause the whole line to come tumbling down. It will not be Link. Not this time. He ended it once before; he broke everything. But he won’t, he refuses, and if Rhett wants to dismantle everything this time around, the duty is all his. Link is done breaking. 

“Don’t cry, honey,” Rhett coos, all traces of teasing, playful name calling gone. He calls Link _honey_ with frightening solemnity and Link feels a breath away from crying out loud. “Hey, don’t cry. I’m here.” Rhett skims his mouth from Link’s hip to his navel, eyes fluttering shut as he presses his nose into the hair above the open button of his jeans. He breathes Link in and it’s all Link can do to keep from breaking down. As it is he is barely holding on. 

“Touch me,” he breathes, as if Rhett is not touching him already. “Touch me, please, touch me.” Rhett obeys. He directs Link without saying a word, helping him slip out of his jeans. He scoops Link’s glasses off the bed and folds them up, placing them on the nightstand. Methodically, like he has every movement planned to the letter, Rhett hooks his thumbs into the waistband of Link’s underwear and slides them down. 

“Wow,” Rhett says, simple, casting Link’s clothes aside. His eyes trace patterns on Link’s body, trailing from his sternum to his hips to his thighs, hungry and wide. 

“What?” Link replies. He crosses his arms over his body and then thinks better of it, unfolding them to allow Rhett access. And Rhett accepts. He falls into Link, the stiff denim of his jeans rough on Link’s bare skin, altogether too clothed for Link’s liking. Link fumbles with Rhett’s jeans, hands clumsy and timid, and Rhett helps him. Rhett has always helped him, since the very first time. There is too much between Link and Rhett, between Link and the soft skin he remembers like no time has passed at all. Rhett kicks off his jeans and his underwear is quick to follow, landing with Link’s on the hotel floor. Before Link is ready Rhett is naked; gorgeous, warm, and everywhere. And it has been too long and Link has forgotten how they mesh, how easily they fall together, how beautifully their bodies fit one another, like puzzle pieces. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Rhett tells him, adoration painting his voice red. “God, you’re so…” Whatever thoughts he has never get put into words. He dips his head, back creaking, and he presses a soft kiss to the center of Link’s lower lip. 

“Horrible?” Link guesses, wrapping his arms around Rhett’s back, cupping his hands around Rhett’s shoulder blades. 

“No,” Rhett murmurs. “No, that’s not it.” 

“Terrible?”

“Mm, no.” 

“Awful?”

“Yes, Link,” Rhett breathes. He drops another dainty kiss to Link’s lips, pulling away before Link can kiss him back. “You’re just the worst. That’s why I’m here,” another press of soft lips, “kissin’ you. That’s why I’m here tryin’ to tell you I’d do anything to keep you. Because you’re godawful. Isn’t that somethin’?” He teases, making himself laugh, and as he kisses the apple of Link’s cheek he grins. Feeling Rhett smiling into his skin is the best thing Link has felt all year. 

“Shuddup,” Link says. And Rhett does. For all the things racing through his mind, Link does, too. Rhett kisses Link with no real urgency, no sense of worry about an impending end. It should terrify Link, the implications of Rhett finding no end in sight. But it doesn’t. Every touch Rhett gifts him, he tries to return with double the power behind it. _I love you_ , he says with his hands cupping Rhett’s face. _I love you_ , he says his fingers in Rhett’s hair. With every kiss he tries to assure Rhett of the truth: _I love you, I love you, I love you_. Rhett has to hear it. He has to. 

They end up under the covers, lying side by side, hands roving without much thought. Rhett reaches behind himself to turn off the light and with the room plunged into darkness it gets easier to breathe. The only light is from the streetlights far beyond the lone window, the room tinged orange. Rhett’s silhouette in the near perfect darkness is all Link can see. The bed creaks as Rhett moves, brushing his thumb across Link’s cheek, searching for his mouth in the dark. He finds it and he sighs, relieved, against Link’s lips as he parts them to let Rhett inside. The lingering taste of fake strawberry on Rhett’s tongue is better than any version of him Link could have conjured up in the months they spent apart. Not once in all those months would he have dreamed he’d find himself in Rhett’s arms again. 

Rhett pushes Link’s hair from his face with a gentle brushing of his fingers, tucking loose locks behind his ear. In the time they spent apart Link grew his hair out again, leaving it shaggy and unkempt as he had back in the very beginning of the empire they built. He let it grow entirely too long, just like he wore it ten years ago, and now Rhett smiles crookedly as he shoves it back. 

“I always liked your hair long like this,” Rhett says, tugging at the hair that brushes the nape of Link’s neck. “It suits you.”

“Oh, is that why we ended things?” Link asks. “’Cause you didn’t like my haircut?”

“That’s exactly it,” Rhett chuckles. Link laughs with him, their noses brushing together, Rhett’s hands cupping Link’s cheeks. Link can’t tear his hand from the swell of Rhett’s hip, his thumb making a circle over the bone. Rhett doesn’t seem to mind. 

“It was stupid,” Link says, voice hushed, “to end things the way we did.” 

“It was,” Rhett agrees.

“We’ll have to…this time…if there is a this time…”

“We’ll do it right,” Rhett says. As ever, as always, he knows what to say before Link can form the thoughts clashing in his head. It’s all fleeting, terrible things, anyhow: _I won’t ever get to keep him; we can’t do this to each other; we won’t be able to rebuild the things we tore apart_. With Rhett’s hands on him Link has no room for all the horrible things he ought to think about. Instead he lets Rhett’s body pressed flush to his be the whole world. Isn’t that how it should be? Rhett can be the moon, the stars, the galaxies, swirling in shades of pink and purple and yellow like the color of bruises. Rhett can be everything. All Link has to do is let him. 

He does.

He closes his eyes, hands trembling, and he pulls Rhett closer in the dark. He pushes Rhett onto his back, rolling them over, pinning Rhett by his shoulders to the bed. Rhett is pliant in his hands, yielding and forgiving, and Link loves him. Link loves him. 

Rhett smells like sugar, like honey, and he tastes the same. No amount of time could have spared Link the memory of exactly how he sounds and smells and tastes. Every last part of him is the same as always and Link offers up a prayer of thanks to whichever yielding and forgiving God listens to him. _Thank you for giving him back to me_. Rhett’s hands feel like they might burn his skin as they glide down the slope of Link’s back, graceful as they have ever been. Link gives up on holding himself up on his elbows as Rhett’s hands slide downwards, all the hard and soft parts of their bodies colliding. Link crashes into Rhett and Rhett exhales, breath washing hot over Link’s face. 

“I love you,” Link says. And then, desperate, keening, “Love me, Rhett. Love me, love me.” 

He does. He does. 

 

In the morning the rising sun streaming through the window rouses Link from sleep. He blinks slowly, sun filling up the room, facing the window and the world beyond it. There is not much to see through the shuttered blinds and Link is glad. For the moment he wants the world to be narrow, to be small. Rhett’s arm is draped heavy around his middle, his face pressed into the nape of Link’s neck. He breathes evenly, serene, and Link feels he might die if he tries to move. He’s not ready to give up the press of Rhett’s bare chest to his spine and he is even less prepared to give up Rhett’s fingertips brushing his belly. Rhett’s knees are tucked against the backs of Link’s and it’s remarkable, the way they fit together. How had it ever been so easy to pull away from one another once they knew? 

(The first time had been nothing like this.) 

The first time, the morning after, Link awoke to find himself alone. Panic constricted his throat as he sat up in bed, Rhett’s side open and empty. Rhett had told Link he loved him and Link hadn’t said it back. He had left and Link understood: he would have left, too. Link swung his legs out of bed and thumped his bare feet on the floor, burying his face in both hands. He was stupid to think Rhett would stay after what they had done. Link’s skin was sticky with sweat and something else, and the urge to clean the night away proved overwhelming. Alone and shaken and sore, Link climbed into the unfamiliar shower and leaned heavy against the wall as the steaming water washed over him. Try as he might, nothing could wash away the wrong he and Rhett had done. Rhett was gone and he was probably doing the right thing, talking to his wife to tell her each and every awful truth. Link was going to do no such thing. He was terrible, that was all, and hot water turned cold for all the time he spent trying to wash his sins down the drain. 

When Link padded from the bathroom, swiping tears from his eyes with the back of one trembling hand, he found Rhett waiting for him on the used up hotel bed. 

“You came back,” Link said, painfully aware of his nakedness as Rhett sat fully clothed and quiet. 

“I brought you a coffee from the lobby,” Rhett replied. His voice was flat and he would not look Link full in the face, his stormy eyes hovering somewhere over Link’s shoulder. 

“What do you see?” Link asked, trying to make a joke despite the budding panic in the back of his throat. Rhett gave a half-hearted smile.

“I just see you,” he replied. And then, brow furrowed, hands clasped around a paper cup of coffee, “I’ve always just seen you.” 

“I thought you left for good,” Link replied lamely. The shock that flashed across Rhett’s face proved just how stupid of a notion it was. Rhett wasn’t going anywhere; Rhett was still his Rhett and there was nothing to fear. Rhett looked exhausted, spent, dark bags under his red rimmed eyes. Link was sure he looked no better. His limbs ached like he had never felt before, his stomach turning and his head doing the same. But Rhett flicked his eyes up to meet Link’s and Link all but staggered under his gaze.

“I don’t ever wanna leave you again,” Rhett said, like it was obvious, like the moment they shared was forever. “And that’s the problem, isn’t it?” 

“Yeah,” Link agreed. “That’s the problem.” There was a whole world waiting for them outside the hotel room, wide and open, and they had to step back into it sooner or later. There was no getting back into bed and hiding out, pressing frantic kisses to exposed skin and whispering about forever and always. They did something terrible, Rhett and Link did, and there was no pretending it was something good. 

(It felt good; God, did it feel good. But _good_ and _beautiful_ did not always mean _right_.)

“C’mere,” Rhett said, and Link listened. Dripping from the shower and utterly naked, Link let himself be drawn into Rhett’s lap. He crossed his arms in an effort to close himself off but it was useless. Rhett always saw straight through him no matter what he did to try and hide. Rhett rested his head on Link’s bare shoulder, heedless of the way Link dripped water on him from his hair, from his arms, from his hands. Link allowed the moment to stretch in silence. Rhett was the one to break it. “I’m scared,” he said. 

“Me too,” Link replied, immediate. 

“But the funny thing is, I’m also not.” Rhett kissed Link’s shoulder and propped his chin up on it, peering into Link’s face. Link had no idea what to do with his hands. He wanted to wrap them around Rhett but he felt fragile and open and unsure. So he did nothing at all. 

“No?”

“Not yet. Not here with you.” 

“Maybe you should be.”

“I know I should be.”

“So you’re just playing dumb.”

“I guess so,” Rhett said with another press of his lips to Link’s shoulder. He was never, ever going to get used to the feel of Rhett’s beard on his skin nor the burning it left there. 

“This is the worst thing we’ve ever done,” Link said. 

“Don’t say that,” Rhett snapped in reply. His arms tightened around Link’s middle and Link squeaked in protest, the embrace too much for him to handle. Rhett loosened his grip. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Just…don’t. Do me a favor and don’t pretend what we did was something awful.”

“I didn’t say it was awful,” Link reminded him, eyes locked on his own hands. “Just unforgiveable.” 

The first time was a world away from where Link lies now. He waits, breathless, for Rhett to wake up and make the first move. Link has never been good at that. He yearns to watch Rhett’s face as he sleeps, to see the peace behind his closed eyelids. But Link is scared to move. One move could ruin everything; one move could awaken Rhett and topple the first domino of thousands. Link is not willing to start the end just yet. He closes his eyes and wills sleep to take him again, pleasant dreams of every touch and caress and kiss, but the morning has other plans. From across the room Link’s phone begins to ring, piercing through the quiet like a knife. Immediately Rhett stirs, tightening his arm around Link and groaning in protest. 

“Ignore it,” he mumbles, voice thick with sleep. But already Link is struggling out of his arms, half falling and half crawling out of bed as he fumbles for his phone. Rhett sighs as Link escapes him and Link is sorry for the disappointment evident in the simple release of air. Link finds his phone under Rhett’s discarded T-shirt and he squints at the garish, broken screen. His wife’s name lights it up. He pauses, waiting a beat too long, and the call ends. 

“Shit,” he hisses.

“Christy?” comes Rhett’s voice from behind him, garbled and tired. 

“Christy,” Link confirms. He opens his phone, intent on calling her back, on telling her everything, on telling her the truth. But it vibrates in his hand, his wife leaving a text instead of a voicemail he won’t ever listen to. Link opens the message, hands shaking so hard it’s hard to see, and he sinks to the bed with the phone clasped in his open palms. 

“What is it?” Rhett asks, his hands on Link’s sides, sliding them around his body to meet in the middle. Numbly, Link passes him the phone. 

_If he is what you want_ , the text reads, _take all the time you need. I’m going to take some time away. I’ll be staying with my family. The kids are with Jessie…she’s been a good friend to me today. I love you, Link. But don’t make me wait at home alone for you to make up your mind. If you need me, you know where I’ll be._

“Oh, Link…” Rhett breathes, arms tightening as if to hold Link steady. Before he can say another word, be it to comfort or to admonish or to offer a bit of hope, Link has his face in both hands. He takes in one deep, shuddering breath and after that there is nothing steady about him. He cries, first quietly and then like the world is ending, Rhett sitting up and draping himself over Link’s quaking body. He thought himself ready for this, for the consequences of his actions, but spelled out in black and white this is the worst thing he could have imagined. Rhett fusses over him, soothing, muttering words of comfort Link ignores. His life is falling apart and it’s half the fault of the man whose arms are wrapped around him. 

No, no, no; the fault is not Rhett’s at all. The blame lies with Link. He had every chance to end this before it began. He had the choice to turn away and he chose to embrace it, to embrace Rhett instead. He had no right to cry now; his loss is his own doing. 

“She’ll come around, Link. She loves you. She just needs space to…”

“Gimme my phone,” Link snaps, and after a quiet beat Rhett passes it into his hand. Hands shaking and heart pounding in his ears, Link opens the voicemail his wife left him last night. Rhett says nothing as Link raises the phone to his ear. 

“I don’t expect to see you tomorrow,” Christy’s voicemail begins, “despite what you say. I know you. And that’s fine.” She sounds weary and sick, her voice ragged like she cried for days before making the call. “I just thought…I thought you would choose me. I dunno why I thought that. If you want me…if you want to try…call me back tonight. Otherwise…I dunno. This isn’t a threat. This isn’t me tryin’ to make you choose something you don’t want. But Link, the way you looked at me when I said I wanted to try again…I thought you really wanted it, too.” The sound of her sniffling fills Link’s ears and he winces, Rhett’s hands on him keeping him in one piece. “I love you. And I love him, too. That’s why I can’t be half as mad as I wanna be. Don’t worry. I didn’t tell the kids anything. I told them I had a friend who needed me back home. And even if there’s nothing to tell…I didn’t tell Jessie anything, either. I love you, Link. Call me. Please.” The voicemail ends and Link has his hand balled into a fist around his phone before Rhett has time to stop him. He launches the phone across the room, glass and plastic making a cacophony of noise against the plaster wall. The phone leaves a mark where it strikes. 

“Oh, Link,” Rhett says again. This time Link lets him. He falls apart, turning on his knees in the bed to fall into Rhett’s arms. 

“What’m I gonna do, Rhett?” Link asks, his face in Rhett’s bare chest. The happiness, the fullness, and all the wonderful things he felt last night have dissipated, replaced with coldness deep inside the pit of Link’s stomach. 

“Don’t cry,” Rhett replies. He has his hands in Link’s hair, pushing it back from his tear streaked face, pressing mindless kisses in rows up and down Link’s temple. How it must feel to be Rhett, soothing Link over the loss of the person who holds the second half of his heart. Link is deplorable. And yet Rhett is still here and Rhett is not making any move to leave. Rhett loves him. Doesn’t he? 

“Rhett, what the hell’m I going to do?” 

“It’s okay, honey,” Rhett breathes. “You’re okay.” Link clutches Rhett like a lifeline, like Rhett is the only thing tying him to Earth. And maybe he is. “Shh, Link. I’ll tell you what we’re gonna do.” Rhett kisses him, gentle, slow, mouth hot on Link’s face. (Even now, miraculously, Rhett sees things in terms of we.) He scratches at Link’s scalp and murmurs in his ear, useless, pretty things that don’t mean much of anything. Until he says something that means the world. “It’s okay, Link,” he says. “It’s okay. Let’s go together. Let’s follow your girl home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> questions/comments/concerns gladly accepted at reedytenors on tumblr. 
> 
> i intend to make a playlist of every song from which i get the chapter titles once this thing is done. until then, the title of this chapter comes from the song "Casting Lines" by Jack's Mannequin and i would highly recommend it. 
> 
> thank you as always for reading and commenting- i read every single one and i promise each and every one has made me smile wider than is probably safe for my jaw. 
> 
> <3


	7. Don't Forget I'll Hold Your Head

The last thing Link wants to do is leave the quiet safety of his shared hotel room and make his way back out into reality. But Rhett steadies him, Rhett protects him, and Link follows him as he steps into the shower. Rhett squeezes shampoo scented like lemongrass into his palm and washes Link’s hair, digging his fingernails into Link’s scalp and making a happy noise as Link leans gratefully into the touch. The hot water and the softness of Rhett’s hands ease some of the soreness from Link’s tired limbs but his head feels heavy and his throat clogged up. As Rhett wraps a towel around him, draping it across his shoulders like a cape, Link reaches for the roll of scratchy toilet paper and blows his nose. Every effort to clear the sadness from the inside of his head proves fruitless. Rhett is sympathetic, gentle, and Link hates himself for the way he nuzzles into every comforting touch. 

His wife has left him and all he wants is Rhett. 

That is what she wants, isn’t it? She told him to choose Rhett if Rhett is what he wants. But seventeen years means a lot more than simply what Link wants. He wants his children to be happy. He wants his wife to be comfortable, to feel loved, to feel safe. If Link can no longer provide that…who the hell is he to go chasing after her? He voices his concerns as Rhett gets dressed, scooping up Link’s shirt and trying to put it on before realizing it’s not his and peeling it back off. 

“Maybe I should just let her go,” Link says, taking the shirt from Rhett and holding it in shaky hands. “She’s better off without me. Granted, so are you, but that doesn’t…” Rhett shushes him with a kiss that makes his head spin. 

“Some time at home will be good for us,” Rhett says, his nose brushing Link’s. “Don’t you think some time at home will help you clear your head?” Link blinks owlishly up at Rhett, his lip between his teeth. Rhett makes it sound so easy. Sure, they will spend a few days at home, basking in the North Carolina humidity. Sure, they can walk their old stomping grounds and try to conjure up something that resembles a plan. But there is nothing easy about this. Link wants two different realities at once: he wants his wife and the way she talks in her sleep; he wants his kids and all the noise they make as they fight and scream and jabber. And he wants Rhett, warm in his bed, safety in the tightness of his arms. He wants all of it, every last bit, and selfishness keeps him rooted to the spot in which he stands. 

“You’re proposing a vacation in the middle of this mess,” Link says, his voice hollow. 

“No,” Rhett replies. “I’m proposing we recharge. We can see our families, we can relax, and you can think about what it is you want.”

“I want you,” Link all but wails. He sounds pitiful to his own ears, like a teenager forbidden to see the person he loves. Melodrama is not a good look on him and he hates it, the way in which he shouts, petulant. Rhett chuckles for a moment, clapping a hand over his mouth and quieting as Link surges up on his toes to stand eye to eye with him. “Stay here,” Link says, Rhett’s eyes going wide.

“Here in this hotel room, for the rest of my…?” Rhett tries to tease and Link cuts him off, pressing one hand to the back of Rhett’s, already placed over his mouth. 

“In LA,” Link says. “You stay here and let me get my wife. I’ll bring her back here, where we belong, and we can figure this out. There has to be a way to make this…”

“If you want her and you want me, there’s no easy way out, Link,” Rhett says flatly. It’s the most blunt he has been with Link since pulling into the hotel parking lot and it scares the hell out of him. Rhett softens as Link balks, his hands going to Link’s sides, and Link lets Rhett hold onto his bare hips for a moment. He tries to look into Rhett’s face; he tries and he fails. He looks away, dropping his head hopelessly to Rhett’s chest, breathing in the clean, just washed scent of his skin. 

“Why are you so willing to stay with me,” Link says, “if in the end I might not be able to…if it might end badly…?” He falters, useless, but Rhett gets the message. 

“Believe it or not,” Rhett says, winding his arms around Link’s shoulders, “more than anything in the world I want you to be happy. Spending all this time apart was the worst thing we could have done to each other. But if there’s any way at all I can make up for that…I want to do it.” Link shocks himself as badly as he does Rhett by barking a sob. 

(He has never been deserving of half the things he’s got.)

“Don’t cry,” Rhett says. “Please don’t cry.” Rhett’s voice is thick as Link lays his head on his chest, feeling the reverberation of Rhett’s plea as he speaks. It should be simple, the list of do’s and don’ts. Don’t cry, don’t think too much, don’t leave, please, for the love of God, don’t leave. Do come closer, do stand still and dissolve in Rhett’s arms, and do squeeze Rhett until he groans in pain. It should be simple, easy to follow. But it’s not. Link struggles to get a hold of himself, embarrassed by the childish crocodile tears, but Rhett soothes him like crying is not the worst thing he could do. 

“I don’t wanna go home, Rhett,” Link says. His voice shakes, his tongue twisting up as he cries. He’s pathetic, crying like a dead man walking. At what point did he let himself grow so damn weak? “I don’ wanna go home and I know we can’t stay here. Why can’t we just stay here?” He tries and fails to catch his breath and as he wheezes and chokes Rhett starts to pull away. Before he can stop himself Link holds tighter to him, altogether unready to let him go. 

“Shh, hey,” Rhett says, slipping from Link’s arms. Link dips his head, desperate to look anywhere but at Rhett’s face. But Rhett touches Link under his jaw with two fingers, tipping his chin up to make him. At the heat of Rhett’s fingertips Link closes his eyes. “Look at me,” Rhett says. “Hey, look at me.” Link shakes his head. He sniffles, nose running and eyes sore. Where does he get off, crying like this? Just who does he think he’s kidding? He deserves no sympathy, least of all from Rhett. 

(Rhett was right when he looked at Link with resignation in his eyes and told him he never did anything but take.)

Link can take all the sympathy Rhett wants to lend him but Rhett has to know there is nothing Link can give him in return. Link told Rhett he hated him and he meant it. He told Rhett he never wanted to see him again and in the moment he thought he never meant anything more. He left Rhett and he kept him waiting and even now he holds Rhett on a string (one he could cut, one he could release, one he could break). How long is Rhett going to allow himself to hang before he cuts it himself? 

“Link, please open your eyes.” Rhett tries to coax a sign of life out of Link, anything at all, and to prove he is still alive Link shakes his head. He shivers in the middle of their hotel room, his T-shirt balled in one fist, the rest of his clothes strewn across the floor. He’s cold, goose bumps on his arms and down his back, but hell if he is going to complain with Rhett standing so close. All Rhett would do would be to hold him. And warmth is the last thing Link deserves. “Okay,” Rhett says. He sighs, giving up, and it’s just as well. Link waits, tensed up so tautly his body aches with it, for the crushing blow. He waits for Rhett to end it, to snap, to break. He waits for Rhett to realize just how deeply they have let themselves sink. But he doesn’t. 

Link gasps aloud as Rhett’s hands leave his face. For the space of a breath, for the space of two, Link stands alone. But then Rhett is at his back, winding long arms around Link’s middle from behind. He slots their bodies together, one knee between both of Link’s, his big, warm hands meeting over Link’s heart. Rhett drops his chin to Link’s shoulder and just like that he goes still. He breathes evenly, nose pressed close to Link’s ear, and with his eyes closed Link can almost pretend this is something that will always be his. 

“Can I tell you something, Link?” Rhett asks. Despite his better judgement Link tells him he can. “I almost told you, once.” 

Link opens his eyes. 

All he sees is the shuttered window, the sunlight beyond it, and last night’s dirty clothes spilled like blood across the carpet. His glasses are somewhere with them, gone, and the blurred shadows of the world around him do nothing to ease the hammering of his heart. 

“Told me what?” he asks, even though he knows. Rhett hums in his ear, quiet, pressing his mouth to the curve of Link’s shoulder. He doesn’t kiss him. He only holds his mouth there, lips warm. 

“How I felt,” Rhett mumbles. 

“How you felt…?” He plays dumb because it’s the only thing he can think to do besides scream. Short of begging Rhett not to tell him, not to twist the knife, feigning ignorance is the closest thing to right Link can get. Because if he doesn’t know, if he has no idea, the truth can’t get to him. The truth can’t hurt him. If he lets it…

Link swallows hard as Rhett smiles into his skin. 

“How I felt about you,” Rhett says. 

Link’s attempt to keep the panic from his voice is useless. “When?” he croaks. 

“When you asked Christy to marry you.” Rhett skims his mouth against the side of Link’s neck, humming to himself as if the admission means nothing. What would Link have done back then, if Rhett had told him? What would have happened to them, if when they were so, so young Rhett tried to flip everything upside down? 

Link knows what he would have done. He would have walked away. At first, in utter disbelief, he would have laughed. He would have scoffed, sure Rhett was playing a joke on him. He would have been sure of it. Then, as Rhett did something stupid like say it again instead of backing down, Link would have done something equally stupid and he would have turned and ran the other way. He didn’t feel it, not then. There was too much keeping him where he was: there was his mother (God, what would she think of him?) and there was his church. There was his conscience, his fear of God, his fear of losing everything. There was too much riding on Link growing out of it, of the way his heart sang when Rhett slept over, curled up on his floor or in his bed. There was too much Link had to do with Rhett at his side to voice the ache in his chest. 

But he didn’t feel it. Not then. Did he? 

The thought of what he could have done only makes the feverish panic in Link’s chest tighten. Gasping for air, drowning, Link raises his hands and folds them over Rhett’s, placed carefully over Link’s heart. 

“ _Rhett_ ,” Link sighs, Rhett’s name an exaltation. There is simply not much else he can say. He wants to beg Rhett to stop; he wants to shush him with kisses until Rhett forgets the story he tries to tell. But he doesn’t move. He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t and he doesn’t and he doesn’t, and that is how they got to here. Link lives in _doesn’ts_ and _don’ts_ and Rhett lives in _come here’s_ and _why not’s_. As long as they push and pull, doing and not, choosing and hiding, they will always end up somewhere just like here. A tiny part of Link’s heart perks up, glowing hopeful, to ask him, _just what’s wrong with that_? Link has no answer. 

“I thought,” Rhett says, “I was about to lose my last chance to tell you the truth. And it wasn’t…it wasn’t an all at once sorta thing. It wasn’t like I woke up one morning and knew I was in love with…”

“Stop,” Link says. Rhett doesn’t. But he falters, tongue tripping over the end of his sentence, the part Link does not want to hear. Blessedly, Rhett moves on without voicing it. 

“I just sort of looked at you, Link, and I knew. And the more I thought about it, the more I realized I always knew.” Rhett’s hands are hot on Link’s chest, fingers splayed, Link’s smaller fingers laced up with them. Neither one of them moves. One move, one step and the moment is broken. Maybe a broken moment is what Link wants but he is not going to be the one to break it. “And I thought to myself, if I didn’t tell you then I was never going to get another chance. You were gonna get married and then so was I and then we were going to be stuck where we were for the rest of our lives. We were gonna be best friends and brothers and that was it. And it scared me so much I couldn’t talk to you for days. Do you remember?”

“Of course I remember,” Link breathes. He remembers giving Rhett the news, the best news of his life, and he remembers Rhett avoiding his calls for a week. He remembers the confusion and he remembers asking Christy, “What d’you think I _did_ to him?” and he remembers her telling him, “You’ve probably just given him a lot to think about, Link. For the first time in his life he has to share you.” And he laughed, because that was ludicrous, and Christy laughed, because Rhett was just Rhett and there was nothing to worry about. He was going to come around and the radio silence was far from permanent. But Christy was right. Rhett was brokenhearted. Learning the truth feels like learning to breathe; Link exhales as Rhett hums into the hollow of his throat in the wake of his confession. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Link asks. It’s a stupid question with an easy answer but he cannot help but wonder. What was it that kept Rhett from telling him the truth when there was a hell of a lot less they could lose?

“What would you have said to me, Link?” Rhett replies, as if he heard every awful thing that raced through Link’s mind. “What would have happened to us?” 

“Nothing could have made me leave you,” Link replies, but Rhett’s hands tightening over his heart proves the falseness of the claim. Rhett knows it just as well as he does. 

“Link, it would have ruined us.”

“And what the hell would you call where we stand now?” Link replies. 

“Don’t say that,” Rhett scolds. “We’re not ruined.”

“You said we were. Back when you…back when I asked you not to tell…” Link swallows, losing what little composure he managed to scrape up, and he whirls around in Rhett’s arms. He throws himself against the heat of Rhett’s bare chest, Rhett’s arms encircling his waist. Rhett tried to tell the truth about every awful thing they did and Rhett told him they were ruining everything. He has to think the same now; they do the same terrible things and expect different results. If that is not denial, if that is not blind hope, Link has no idea what is. 

“I was mad at you, Link,” Rhett says, his face pressed into Link’s wet hair. “I was so mad at you I thought I was never going to forgive you. I had loved you so desperately, Link, for longer than I had any right. And for you to decide, just like that, that you wanted me back? You can’t imagine how that felt. I didn’t question it. Not for a second. I let myself fall right into you and then when I tried to do the right thing and make it real…”

“It was already real,” Link keens, desperate for Rhett to stop. But he deserves this, every last word Rhett slings his way. He deserves this, the pain of knowing Rhett thought he lived three decades full to exploding with unrequited love. 

“I keep telling you,” Rhett says, “I wanted all of you. I want all of you. And I thought it wouldn’t be real until I could have that. In my head it was perfect, Link. It was easy. The girls…God, were they going to be mad. They were never, ever going to forgive us. But they’re so good, Link. They’re the best. They were going to love us anyhow and they weren’t gonna resent us, not forever, anyway. And we could have stayed close, stayed a family, and I know it’s all a load of stupid wishful thinking but in my head I thought we could keep it all.” 

“Oh, Rhett,” Link says because there is nothing else to say. Rhett squeezes tight to him, skin to skin, so hot he burns like a star. And maybe there is one more truth Link can tell while they stand toeing the line of lies and truths. “Oh, Rhett, I felt the same.” Rhett buries his face in Link’s hair and lets Link babble, saying all the things he was always too young or stupid or scared to say, and it isn’t until Link finishes that he hears the quiet tears slipping down Rhett’s cheeks. “Rhett, I’ve loved you as long as I can remember. God, Rhett, I’ve loved you my whole life. And I thought…I was so sure you would hate me for feelin’ the way I felt. Every time I thought too long about it I would get so scared…you could trace every stupid fight we had our whole lives back to the way I wouldn’t let myself feel about you. I shoved it back over and over again, and I would forget, and then I would look at you one day when you sat next to me and it would all come rushing back. And we got married, and it got harder, and I never thought I would let myself think about it again…but I did. It came back, worse than ever, and all I could do was fight you and fight you and hope it drove all the stupid feelings away. But it didn’t.”

“No,” Rhett says, sniffling, and Link hates every word that slips from him that makes Rhett feel the need to cry. “It didn’t.” 

Link quakes in Rhett’s arms, horrified by thirty years of truths that slipped from him like the tears that slip out from under closed eyelids. Rhett says nothing and neither does Link, the two of them sniffling and trying their best to pretend they are not. It’s useless, faking composure, and sooner or later one of them is going to have to pull away. They are going to have to look at one another and their tear streaked faces. And they are going to have to wipe up the tears, dry their eyes, and move on. Link has the feeling it is easier said than done. 

(But then he would have said the same of telling Rhett the truth.)

“I love you,” Link says against Rhett’s chest, cheek pressed to his heart. “I love you so, so much, Rhett.” Like always, like he has been saying since they came back together, Rhett refrains from saying it back. Link can’t blame him. It was Rhett who said it every time; it was Rhett who said it with reverence in his eyes and sincerity all over his face. Link can’t fault him now for being scared. But Link isn’t scared to say it. Not anymore. 

“I know,” Rhett says. And as long as Rhett finally knows it has to be enough. 

 

With dirty clothes and dirty souls, Rhett and Link make the long drive back to Los Angeles. Rhett drives with one hand on the wheel and the other on Link’s thigh. The familiar give and take of the relationship they had last summer comes back like it has been no time at all. Link is not complaining. He traces circles on the back of Rhett’s hand with one finger, Rhett lifting his fingers one by one to try and trap Link’s. It’s a simple dance, something easy, and Link finds himself smiling down at their hands as they tangle up together on his knee. He is going to take every easy second he can get from here on out. His phone sits broken in the pocket of his dirty jeans and there is nothing he can do but let Rhett drive them back to the life they left behind for a night. 

As Rhett pulls into his driveway Link feels his heart could explode. It’s too much and he is not ready; his kids wait for him inside and he has been the lousiest excuse for a father. He never thought he could be compared to his own, a man who wasn’t always there when he should have been. But sitting in the driveway, the car idling as Rhett waits for him to be ready, Link can’t help but remember all the time he spent sure he was a better father than his. 

“What is it?” Rhett asks. He lifts his hand from Link’s thigh and the warm spot his palm leaves makes Link shiver in its absence. 

“Nothin’,” Link says, and he hops out of the car. It takes Rhett a moment to follow him, leaving the keys in the ignition as if he anticipates a need to make a quick escape. One look up into his eyes and Link feels the same. But his chest hurts, a physical ache for missing his family, and Link has to face them sooner or later. Trying to make a joke, to make this easier, Link asks, “Is Jessie gonna be happy to see me or is she gonna hit me?” 

“She misses you,” Rhett replies instead of answering the question. Link takes the hint for once and puts his teasing smile away. “Don’t worry,” Rhett says, one hand landing heavy on Link’s shoulder. “She’s gonna be so happy to see you, man. A hell of a lot happier than I was at first.” Link looks up at him in horror, feeling the anxiety weighing down the corners of his mouth, but he finds Rhett teasing him back. “We’re good,” Rhett assures him. He looks spectacular in the early afternoon sun, even overtired and overworked and sad. His eyes shine and his hair is mussed, un-styled and just how Link likes it best. Link has a wild desire to yank him back by the hand to the car and make that quick escape, leaving everything behind. By the look on Rhett’s face, he feels it, too. “I don’t think we’ve ever been so good,” Rhett adds, his voice soft. 

“Whaddya mean?” Link asks. 

“We almost know where we stand,” Rhett says. “That has to mean something, right?” Link has no idea what Rhett tries to say (they have been more solid than this; they have been happier and smarter and safer) but as Rhett opens his mouth to go on his front door opens and a cacophony of voices spills out. Rhett turns around to greet his children, the first two faces poking out the front door, and Link follows suit. And Link is not half as brave as Rhett nor half as open; when Jessie follows her boys out into the front yard Link keeps himself at bay. He keeps space between them, even as their eyes meet and hers go wide. His kids are right behind her, pushing just a little to be the first one outside, and Jessie beams as Link tries to scold them.

“Hey!” he calls. “Easy, easy!” Heedless, thoughtless, his kids and Rhett’s ignore every attempt to reel them in. After a few failed attempts to calm them, to pull them in close so Link can get a good look at them, Link gives up on hugging the McLaughlin boys to within an inch of their lives for the moment. He keeps his eyes trained on Jessie, searching for a sign of anger, a sign of resentment, of knowledge. But none of it is there. Instead she is as wide open as her husband, smiling at Link as the distance between them grows smaller and smaller. Once they are close enough to touch, Rhett at Link’s back trying to wrangle Link’s kids in for a moment, Jessie reaches for Link’s hand. 

“Oh, Link,” she says, as beautiful and soft as she was the last time Link saw her. “You grew your hair out.” 

“Yeah, I did,” he says, embarrassed at the dishevelment of his hair. He runs his free hand through it, his other grasped in Jessie’s, and she tells him it looks fine.

“I just never expected to see it so wild again!” she says. 

“Do you hate it?” he asks to avoid asking the more obvious _do you hate_ me? 

“No, no!” she cries. “No, Link, it suits you!” And just like that she is in his arms, diving in, and he throws his arms around her to keep from toppling over. She is just as small as Christy, just as warm, and he can’t help but lift her off her feet just like Rhett did at first sight of Christy. 

“It’s good to see you, Jess,” he tells her, and God, does he mean it. He never expected to mean it so much. They were one family and then they were two, that’s all, and it’s hard to keep his composure as they come back together. Rhett has managed to scoop Lando off the ground, his bare feet kicking out as he climbs Rhett like a tree. The joy on Rhett’s face is too much to handle, like staring straight into the sun, and Link looks for Rhett’s boys instead. He finds them talking wildly with Lily and Lincoln, bouncing up and down, utterly giddy, and interrupting them is the last thing Link wants to do. But they finally seem to notice his presence as he watches them, two pairs of bright eyes going wide. 

“Hey, Link!” Locke calls out, and all at once four pairs of arms fight to fly around him at once. His own kids join in the fray, easily riled up by the McLaughlins, and he finds himself laughing, giddy himself, as the kids play fight for a piece of him. 

“You’re so big!” he crows over Locke and Shephard, dazed by the height a year has given each of them. He fights back the urge to tell them over and over how much they’ve grown; the kids need no more reminders of the time they spent forced apart. 

“You need a haircut!” Locke teases in reply, and Link tells the boy with the wild, messy mane that he is one to talk. Locke rolls his eyes but he laughs, the same old happy-go-lucky boy he has always been, and Link can hardly fathom how he spent so long away from the boys he loves so much. Even the dogs have him feeling teary eyed, Jade and Barbara yapping as they chase each other around the yard in circles. The joyous, tearful reunion moves inside, Jessie calling them in for a late lunch, and in the kitchen they buzz and bustle with noise. No one says a word yet about the obvious empty seat at the dining room table and Link is glad. He needs more time to sit beside Rhett as he sits beside his beaming wife. He needs more time to prepare just what he is going to say when he gets Jessie alone. He watches his children talk and laugh like nothing is wrong. There is nothing in the world he wants more than for the smiles to never leave their faces, not even for a second. 

It’s an impossibility he is not quite ready to face. 

Link fidgets at the table, Rhett’s knee pressing his periodically as they sit together, neither one of them making any effort to break the contact. It horrifies Link, how little he wants anything to change, but to Rhett’s credit and to Jessie’s neither of them ask if he’s all right in front of his kids. After they eat the kids are quick to flee back outside, full to the brim with joy at being together again. Rhett moves from the table to the sink to help Jessie clean up, the two of them in an easy rhythm, and Link sits at the table doing nothing but watching his clasped hands in his lap. It isn’t until one of the kids screams outside that he looks up. 

“Rhett, can you see what in the world they’ve gotten into now?” Jessie asks, dripping sponge in hand. Rhett drops the plate he dries back into the soapy dishwater, sending is splashing across Jessie’s front, and she swats him with her free hand. “Out!” she laughs, and Rhett scurries away like a scolded dog. He takes one look at Link on his way out the back door, one that says _please talk to her_. Link knows every look as well as he knows the sound of Rhett’s voice. He gives Rhett the tiniest of nods, one he hopes says just as clearly _I will_. And just like that he and Jessie are alone. 

“Want some help with that?” Link asks. He gives her no time to answer as she fusses over her the wet spot on the front of her T-shirt, getting up and joining her at the sink. 

“Thank you, Link,” she says, and she gives him a coy little hip check as he picks up the plate Rhett dropped. She dives her delicate hands into the soapy water, coming up with a dirty glass, running it idly under the steaming water. It’s not hard to see her mind is elsewhere. Link’s is, too. They pretend to focus on the dishes for a moment, Jessie handing him clean dishes and Link drying them with a towel with a row of chickens printed on it. It’s something his mother would have, an obvious Christmas present from well-meaning in-laws. Link’s home is filled with things of the same nature, gifts from the in-laws who are never, ever going to be able to forgive him even when the dust finally settles. 

Jessie is the braver of the two of them and Jessie wastes no time in breaking the silence. “You know,” she says, eyes on her hands, “I have every intention of giving him to you.” It’s Link’s turn to drop a dish, the glass in his hand shattering as it slips from his hand onto the counter. Glass sprays out across the granite countertop and Link makes a split second decision to try and grab for the shards before they hit the floor. “Don’t!” Jessie cries, but Link is not quick on his feet and her panic only serves to make him clumsy. Glass tinkles to the floor and Link feels a bite of pain in the pad of his ring finger just as his stomach plummets. “Oh, don’t look!” Jessie says, knowing just as well as Link does what will happen if he does. She takes his hand, Link’s head spinning, and she guides it under the running water. “You’re okay, you’re okay,” she says, like he’s a child who needs protecting, and as Rhett slams his way back into the kitchen he feels he may as well be. 

“What happened?” Rhett asks, taking long strides at Link’s back across the kitchen.

“He cut himself,” Jessie says hurriedly, shielding Link from seeing his hand with her body, but Rhett is at his back and Rhett makes a sound of surprise. 

“Is it bad?” Link asks, aware of not much beyond the pain that throbs to the beat of his heart in his fingertip. His head feels fuzzy, his ears ringing, and all at once Rhett’s big hands are around his waist. “’M okay,” Link says, to get Rhett’s hands off him if nothing else. Touches like this are reserved for when they are alone; Link hates the way he leans into the feel of Rhett’s hands curling around his hips while his wife fixes Link up. Rhett holds on anyhow. 

“It’s not bad,” Rhett says, and Jessie pipes up.

“No, no, Link, it’s not bad. Lemme get you a Band-Aid. Stay here.”

“Where would I go?” Link says, laughing weakly at his own joke. Rhett holds him steady as Jessie’s hands disappear, leaving Link to lean heavy on the sink. He keeps his head down to keep from having to look at his hand, the pain focused in the tip of his finger. Typical he would injure his ring finger; the symbolism of marring the hand that marks his marriage is not lost on Link. 

“You’re okay, baby,” Rhett murmurs in his ear, body pressed flush to Link’s back, following the awkward downward curve of his spine as he stands hunched. Rhett’s lips meet the back of Link’s neck, pressing for a moment that stretches out long and then breaks. Link does nothing to fight him off. He’s close to sinking to his knees, black spots dancing across his vision, and he doesn’t have it in him for the moment to do anything right. Rhett’s sneakers crunch in broken glass and Jessie makes a quick return, scooping Link’s injured hand into both of hers.

“Don’t look,” she repeats, and just as quickly as it happened the cut is cleaned and covered like it never happened at all. 

“Thank you,” Link breathes as she orders him to close his eyes, wiping stray dots of blood from the counter with a paper towel. 

“Anything for you, you big baby,” she teases in reply, and God, does Link hate himself for making her think she has to give Rhett up. He should forget what she said; he should tell her there’s no way he will allow it. But he’s dizzy and his stomach does strange flips as he sways, threatening to betray him if he moves too quickly. Rhett’s hands are still on his hips. Rhett’s hands keep him tethered to the ground. And he is too selfish for anyone’s good and he does nothing to shake them off. If he is going to be selfish he might as well be deplorable. 

 

To Link’s relief he gets no more time alone with Jessie. He has too much to say to her, too many things to apologize for, and his hands shake to a pitiful degree as he and Rhett sit Jessie down. 

“We just want to keep her company while she deals with this,” Link says, spinning yet another lie. Maybe it’s a moot point, now, telling lies when Jessie knows exactly where she stands, but he can’t help it as they spill from his mouth like water from a broken dam. “Are you sure you’re okay with watching the kids?”

“Of course,” she says, eying him like she knows him to the core. Maybe she does. Link shifts uncomfortably, scared of all the things he has yet to say to her. “I’ve missed them so much I can’t even tell you. I’d keep them forever if you’d let me.” She smiles, dark hair spilling over her face, and she tucks it back with one hand. 

“I’m sure you’ll be singin’ a different song by the time we get back,” Link says, trying to make her laugh, and to her credit she’s kind to him and she does. 

“Maybe,” she admits. “But even so, I’m happy to have them. Tell Christy to take all the time she needs to be at home. I know how hard it is to be away sometimes.” There are a hundred times as many unsaid words in her face than the ones she lets out of her mouth, and Link owes her the world for keeping them in for the moment. He owes her even more for lending him Rhett. Never will he be able to repay her and the knowledge settles heavy in his stomach, making it hard to stand as he and Rhett get ready to pack him a bag. They move in silence, bumping shoulders now and then, Link’s hand throbbing painfully as he passes Rhett T-shirts and socks. They prepare to greet the cool weather of home, a world away from the dry, hot non-weather of LA. 

“Bring a sweater,” Link says, digging Rhett’s cream colored cactus print sweater from inside his dresser. “I like this one.” Smirking to himself, Rhett tosses it into his suitcase without a word. Link follows him out of the bedroom Rhett shares with his wife, making their way back out into the yard to say temporary goodbyes. Link’s heart gives a lurch at the thought of leaving his kids for any amount of time, and it only gets worse as they crowd him for a hug. 

“It’ll only be a couple’a days at most,” Link assures them, gladdened by their carefree, offhand goodbyes. They have no concern in the world and Link is grateful. He wants to let it stay that way as long as he can. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Lando says, waving one little hand, desperate to get back to playing. Link presses a kiss to the side of his head and sets him free. Straightening up from where he knelt on the grass, Link’s bones creak as he meets Rhett and Jessie at Rhett’s car. Jessie surprises Link by dragging him down to kiss his cheek, telling him she’ll see him soon. There is no sign of anger in her voice, no malice, and Link narrowly avoids telling her the truth and telling her he loves her. Now is far from the time for an admission like that. Rhett hugs her hard, lifting her off the ground, and Link looks away as he sets her back down. He climbs into the car to give them a moment to themselves to do with what they will. He has no right to watch and even less of a right to be upset as they kiss outside the car. Rhett’s heart has to be as torn as Link’s is. Link does not allow himself to feel anything but hollow. 

The drive to Link’s empty house passes quickly. Rhett helps him throw clothes into a leather suitcase his wife bought him one Christmas. More than once Rhett tries to catch him in the middle of his bedroom, one arm winding around Link’s waist, but Link slips out of his grasp every time. He feels sick from the love Jessie showed him and what she said as they stood side by side: I have every intention of giving him to you. What gave Link the right to take what she offers? Rhett does not belong to him. And yet, Rhett makes disgruntled noises as Link evades him over and over. Maybe this is what Rhett wants. Maybe Rhett tells nothing but the truth; maybe Link is all he wants. 

The path before them has never been less clear. Maybe they almost know where they stand. Link sure as hell has no idea where he does on his own. He lets Rhett carry the knowledge for now, Rhett hauling Link’s bag over his shoulder and carrying it all the way to the car. Link looks up at his house as they pull away, certain the next time he sees it he will be better. He will be smarter. And maybe a few more things will make sense, falling into place. He lets himself think so, anyway, on the drive to LAX. It goes by too fast, the drive and the rush through security and the rush to get to their seats. Rhett has the window, much to his discomfort, and he resigns himself to a painful, cramped up flight. 

LA falls away, looking entirely too small, and Rhett asks Link, “What are you going to do when you find her, Link?” He looks past Rhett’s eyes to watch the world far below them and he tells Rhett,

“I don’t know.” He props his chin on Rhett’s shoulder, staring at the green of California forests, and Rhett watches with him. Link ought to tell Rhett what Jessie said. He ought to tell him his wife is going to give him up. But what would Rhett say? Would that change anything? Deep down, down where he knows right from wrong, Rhett might know he should stay with his wife. He knows he should be better to her; he knows he should give her the world. But maybe, deep down, Rhett doesn’t care. Maybe he is better than Link ever knew; maybe he refuses to spin lies as intricately as Link does. Whatever the reason, be it selfishness or evilness or something darker than love, Link stays quiet. He kisses Rhett’s shoulder through his T-shirt, damn the people who sit too close and who might see. Rhett hums in response but stays just as quiet. 

Home falls away, the plane soaring over the clouds, and the place they used to call home looms closer with every moment. The flight is not a long one but the time difference steals hours from them, the sun sliding away as they near the east coast. Link fights off sleep for as long as he can but fighting off the urge to close his eyes has never been his strong suit. 

“Hey,” he mutters to Rhett as he jerks up from nearly dozing off for the third time.

“Yeah?” Rhett replies. 

“Will you still be here when I wake up?” Rhett’s shoulder shakes under Link’s head as he chuckles.

“Yeah, bo, where would I go?”

“Just tell me you’ll be here.” 

“Yeah,” Rhett says. “Yeah, I’ll be here. ‘M not goin’ anywhere.” That is enough for Link. That is enough for now. Up in the air, everything in his life up in the air, Link falls asleep on Rhett’s shoulder. The last thing he hears before dozing off is Rhett telling him like he’ll never get another chance, “’M going to be here with you forever.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> listening assignment: As You Sleep by Something Corporate. 
> 
> thank you thank you for the continued love and support <3


	8. Leave a Buried Treasure Behind

Link and Rhett fall into step straight off the plane at the Raleigh-Durham Airport. The air is chilly outside, the breeze a relief to Link, but he shivers as he and Rhett wait for a cab. Rhett has his phone in the crook of his neck, calling around for a hotel, and he frees his hands to dig around in his bag. He comes up with his white cactus sweater, the one that looks perfect on him, and he passes it to Link. It’s too big for Link, he knows that, but he takes it and drags it over his head. He feels a strange surge of something pleasant in the pit of his stomach as the sleeves fall over his hands; he glances at Rhett to see if he is looking before drawing his sweater clad hands to his nose. Rhett misses the gesture and Link is glad. He breathes in the scent of Rhett, closing his eyes, and by the time Rhett hangs up the phone and glances back at Link he has his hands back down at his sides. 

“I got us a place not too far from here,” Rhett says, slipping his phone into the pocket of his jeans and giving Link a quick onceover. 

“What?” Link asks. He shoves up the sleeves of Rhett’s sweater with both hands, freeing his fingers. His left ring finger still twinges, neatly bandaged up. More than he is going to admit he wants to take off his wedding band and slip it away; the light bouncing off the ring on his hand makes him feel sick. But he looks up at Rhett as they wait by the curb, bags at their feet, Link’s sneakers still untied and loose from when he kicked them off on the plane. 

“You look…” Rhett begins, the streetlights buzzing overhead giving his eyes a strange glint. He pauses. 

“Exhausted?” Link guesses. 

“No…” 

“A mess?”

“No!”

“Lousy? Sleepy? Old? Beat up?”

“No!” Rhett says, and he throws one arm around Link’s shoulders and drags him close. Link staggers, tripping over his shoelaces, and as he rights himself Rhett chuckles. “Gorgeous,” he says, mouth close to Link’s ear. He surprises Link by pressing a kiss to the side of his head, reckless, mindless. People mill around, dozens of them, dashing by every which way, and Rhett doesn’t care. The lack of mind Rhett pays anyone but Link utterly dazzles him. He presses up into the kiss and Rhett lets it linger for a few seconds longer before pulling away. When he does Link looks up into his face, one sleeve falling back down to cover his fingertips, and Rhett’s eyes trail down to follow it. 

“Lemme help you,” he says, and he drops his hold on Link to reach down and grab for the sleeve of his sweater. Link holds his breath as Rhett takes the sleeve’s cuff in both hands and rolls it up, tongue poked out between his teeth. “Didn’t expect this t’be so big on ya,” he smiles once he’s satisfied, the sleeve rolled to Link’s wrist bone. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Link replies. He’s grateful for the cover of dark; he can feel a blush creeping up on his cheeks and he is glad Rhett misses it. Intimate touches scare him more than he would care to explain. Rhett seems thoughtless as to where they are; they are back home and home is not the place to stand leaning on one another like lovers, regardless of what they really are. But tiredness hits Link like a train as he waits on the curb at Rhett’s side and he finds himself tucked neatly under Rhett’s arm again as he begins to yawn. 

“’M tired, too,” Rhett says, his arm hooked around Link’s shoulders, forearm crossing over Link’s body. Rhett has his palm over Link’s heart and despite the anxiety making it race Link lets him keep it there. Damn who sees and damn who cares; Link relaxes under Rhett’s arm and tries to keep his eyes on the sidewalk instead of on the people passing him by. He yawns until his jaw cracks in protest and then he yawns again, Los Angeles feeling a thousand light years away. It was only hours ago that Jessie smiled up at Link and told him something real. He has always been able to count on them, his girl and Rhett’s, to say something real when they felt it. Christy told him _I thought you would choose me_ and Jessie told him _I have every intention of giving him to you_. Two vastly different truths lay out two vastly different paths before Link and he waits to break at the fork in the road. 

Rhett gives Link a squeeze and he gets the feeling Rhett won’t let anything else inside Link break. It’s a thought that should comfort him and a thought that does not; he deserves every bit of hurt that North Carolina is going to bring. He imagines the long drive to Christy’s parents’ place, the winding roads and the green, green trees, and he imagines knocking at the front door. He imagines it swinging open and he imagines her father swinging a fist, giving Link everything he has had coming to him since the first time he and Rhett kissed. He sees himself landing on his ass on the pavement outside of Christy’s family home and he sees the world ending around him. Is that really what he chases after here? The longer he stands in wait the less he is sure. 

In the end a cab rescues Link from the thoughts he might just let kill him. He and Rhett toss their bags into the trunk and Rhett chuckles as the left sleeve of his sweater falls over Link’s hand again.

“Forget it, man,” Link says when Rhett tries once more to push it up for him. “It’s hopeless.” Rhett frowns for a moment, looking at Link like he knows he talks about more than just the sleeve. But he shrugs and tells Link to suit himself, climbing into the cab and waiting for Link to follow. After one last look at the airport and all the people who don’t see him at all, Link does. They ride to their hotel in silence. Rhett offers up his hand to Link like he always does, and like he always does, Link takes it. Rhett’s palm is warm and just a little damp, familiarity in the way he cradles Link’s hand in his. He holds onto Link’s hand like Link is bound to break, as if holding too tightly might shatter him. Link lets him. He feels too shaky at the moment to be sure it won’t. 

At the hotel Link lets Rhett do the talking, hanging back in the lobby with his bag and Rhett’s in his hands. Laden down, Link stumbles after Rhett to the elevator. Nightfall has made the hallways quiet and the elevator empty, Rhett and Link riding up to room 708 alone. Link yawns, his jaw cracks, and both bags slip from his fingers as Rhett chases Link’s open mouth with his. Link’s back hits the back of the elevator as it pings to the second floor and then the third, rising as slowly as the panic in the back of Link’s throat. But Rhett’s mouth is hungry and the last thing Link wants to do is deny his mouth anything. He kisses back, Rhett tripping over their bags as he moves to close the scant inches between their bodies. Rhett has two fistfuls of his own sweater in his hands, dragging Link up onto his tiptoes to keep their lips crashing together. He makes a noise in the back of his throat, deep and dark, and something surges in Link’s stomach. The elevator makes a clanging noise at every floor and once Link counts to seven, his hand on Rhett’s chest, his thrusts his free hand out to shut the door again. Rhett chuckles against his lips, all heat and big, searching hands, and Link laughs back. 

This is the worst thing he could be doing but at least he is not doing wrong alone.

Rhett’s hands are on his face, cradling his cheeks, his glasses steaming up from the heat of Rhett’s breath. And then Rhett’s hands are on his hips, pushing up his sweater, diving under the T-shirt underneath. Link’s stomach does somersaults as the elevator hits the top floor and begins to descend again, the motion making him almost as dizzy as the slide of Rhett’s hands across his ribs. Link can’t decide where to put his own hands, every bit of Rhett a place he wants to touch. He ends up with one hand cupping the back of Rhett’s neck, digging his fingers in until Rhett groans. The other he has at the base of Rhett’s spine until Rhett ruts against him, pressing him harder against the elevator wall. Link fights back. He glides his hand down, slipping it into the back pocket of Rhett’s jeans, squeezing his ass through far too many layers of clothing. Rhett makes another small sound, something closer to a whimper, and Link smiles against the roughness of his beard.

“What?” Rhett asks, breaking the kiss only as Link tries to wipe away the smirk on his face.

“Nothin’, nothin’,” Link says. But despite himself, he’s happy. He is so, so happy, tucked against the wall with Rhett all over him. What does that make him? He’s terrible, he knows; Rhett is going to be the death of him and then the two of them are going straight to Hell together. But he can’t help but smile so wide it hurts his cheeks, his jaw aching from the hours spent yawning. He has Rhett. He has him, despite the time he wasted pushing and shoving and shouting and hating. He still has his best friend if he has nothing else, a warm pair of hands and the warmest, most earnest eyes he has ever seen. 

“What is it?” Rhett asks again. Link hushes him by nipping at his lower lip, sucking it into his mouth and bearing down. Rhett doesn’t try to talk again. He has his hands fluttering across Link’s ribcage, desperate to find purchase, somewhere safe to land. Link keeps his own hands exactly where they are. Between them their bags lie tangled up at their feet, Link stepping all over his bag as they both refuse to come up for air. He forgets who started this, who tried to end it if anyone did at all. The elevator hits the lobby and as the doors begin to open the two of them spring apart, Rhett dragging the back of one hand across his mouth. Link laughs at him openly, utterly giddy with the tiredness taking up every vacant corner of his brain. When they stick their heads out the open elevator doors to find no one waiting, Rhett jabs at the button to close them again. Link is impatient and he presses the button for the seventh floor, not nearly as willing as Rhett to ride the elevator all night long. The moment his open palm leaves the button Rhett is nipping at his neck, sending a shiver rolling all the way through him. Link wraps both arms around Rhett’s neck and pulls him down, Rhett groaning and obeying the orders Link gives him with his hands. 

Link counts to seven and they almost leave their bags behind in their haste to leave the elevator. Rhett shoves his arm in between the closing doors and grabs for them, passing Link’s bag into his hands and leading the way down the hall. For a moment Link waits, watching Rhett walk away, but his hesitation does nothing to change his mind. For now, for the night, he is going to give in to the same urges that led them step by step to this. His heart swelling and threatening to burst, Link pushes at Rhett’s back to get him into their room as fast as he can. Tonight they don’t take the time to hunt down the DO NOT DISTURB sign; tonight they don’t take the time to turn on the lights. Link leaves his shoes by the door as it swings shut behind them and Rhett’s are soon to follow. Two bags hit the floor and Link almost falls headlong over the both of them, Rhett catching him in his arms and setting him upright. In the dark it’s impossible to see anything at all beyond the vague shape of Rhett before him. Meager moonlight fights its way through the lone window and Link follows the light, chasing Rhett to bed. They fall together onto the mattress, miles softer than the one they shared in California. Link gets an elbow to the face and he laughs as his glasses clatter to the floor, Rhett’s hands chasing hopelessly after them.

“Forget it, forget it,” Link says, Rhett’s lips on his throbbing nose in the space of his next breath. “Hey, hey, I’m okay.” He pushes Rhett’s hands away and he rolls them over, straddling Rhett’s hips. He can only just make out Rhett’s face as his eyes adjust to the dark; Rhett looks up at him with a smile dancing on his lips. 

“You’re so…” Rhett begins, but Link shushes him.

“Don’t tell me anything,” he says. “You can’t even see me.” He chases the laugh that follows with his tongue, chasing it all the way through Rhett’s teeth. 

“You’re amazing,” Rhett says, voice husky. “I don’ have to see you to know that.” 

“I thought you might forget in the dark,” Link replies, Rhett squirming beneath his hips as Link pulls at his belt buckle under the light of the moon. 

“No, God, I won’t ever forget,” comes Rhett’s reply, eager and warm in every place Link is afraid and empty and cold. Tomorrow looms ahead of them, dark and deep, but all the things that should stop Link as he helps Rhett out of his jeans simply don’t. Tomorrow Link will have to face what he has done but for the time being Rhett melts beneath his hands and the heat is all Link wants. And they are so close to home, so close to the place where they were taught to fear God. They are so close to the church where they spent countless, endless hours praying with their hands clasped and heads bowed. They are too close to all the places they used to roam, arms and hands brushing as they walked, sure of nothing but their love for one another.

They are too close to the moon and too far from the stars and Link looks into Rhett’s face, the night sky painting it silver. 

“What?” Rhett asks. His hands are on Link’s hips, holding him steady, keeping him still, but Link would not dream of moving even if he could. Tomorrow he is going to have to tear everything down but since when did that mean he can’t spend the night building something up? 

“Can you do me a favor?” Link asks of Rhett.

“Anything.”

“Hold onto me,” Link says, as if Rhett is not already, as if Rhett has his mind and his heart and his hands elsewhere. “Just hold onto me, please, and don’t let go for a while. Can ya do that?” He pauses, Rhett’s thumbs pressing into his hips like he is trying to leave bruises. 

“Sure,” Rhett says. “Yes, I can do that.” It takes no time at all to ease away everything else between them, a new hotel on a new night but an old pile of clothes tossed together on the floor. The bed is warm but Rhett is warmer. Link could drown in the heat of him, in the salt on his skin, in the sweat in his palms. He mouths lazily and then desperately at the dip between Rhett’s collarbones, at the crook of his neck, at his chest. Where Link keeps Rhett at bay, Rhett does not do the same to him; Rhett lets Link bite down hard at the hollow of his throat and suck in a bruise he is going to hate himself for in the morning. The knowledge of future regret does nothing to slow Link down. If anything at all he does it to spite the man he will wake up to be: if he is miserable and happy and scared and in ecstasy, the man he will be in the morning light will be, too. What else can he do? Link leaves a mark on the side of Rhett’s neck, an angry red mark that will bruise, and the surge of pleasure it gives him leaves him feeling wrecked. 

(Who does he think he is?)

He never thought himself one to play games, to toy with things that horrify him, but here he is. Here he is and Rhett is here with him, playing with an uncertain future like kids over a Magic 8 ball. Who the hell do they think they are? The knowledge of a messy future does nothing at all to stop them where they lay. 

(As long as his future holds Rhett, who the hell cares?)

Link lets out the breath he feels he has been holding his whole damn life as Rhett takes control. He lets Rhett have it. If he is going to keep Rhett waiting, if he is going to tear down the earth from top to bottom at least he can let Rhett have this. He can let Rhett have everything for tonight. 

 

In the middle of the night Link sits on the windowsill, curled up with his knees to his chest. It’s closer to dawn now than to sunset, morning coming soon, but the stars are still out as Rhett snores behind Link in the bed. All traces of exhaustion are gone, leaving Link wide awake and wishing he could sleep. The stars, muted by the city lights of the outskirts of Raleigh, shine and glisten overhead. There were nights when Link and Rhett would do nothing but lie on the grass together and watch the stars and the urge to do so now seeps down into Link’s bones. When they were kids they would stare up at the sky and dream of silly things like other worlds and aliens, wormholes and science fiction. Now Link thinks all he would do would be to look up and dream of that version of them. They were safer, then, keeping their distance. They were smarter. 

At Link’s back Rhett begins to stir, rolling over to find the other half of the bed empty. Link waits for him to feel around and come up with nothing. When he does his voice floats across the room, heavy with sleep, and Link is so painfully endeared by the sweet sound of Rhett slurring his words he doesn’t know what he’s going to do. “Link?” Rhett says. “Whaddya doin’, baby?” Link turns away from the window to look back. His eyes land on Rhett, propped up on one elbow, his hair matted down to his forehead. Even in the dark he is beautiful, a picture of disheveled grace. 

“I’m fine,” Link says, answering the question Rhett didn’t ask in so many words. “Go back to sleep. It’s the middle of the night.” Rhett’s brow furrows as he puzzles over where to find the clock; he grabs it off the nightstand and reads the time at the same time Link does: 4:23. 

“Dang,” Rhett says, rubbing idly at one eye with his knuckles. Link is about to tell him again to go to sleep, to be still, to stay away from him so Link can’t hurt him. But Rhett moves before he can speak. He rolls out of bed, naked and mussed up and perfect, and he stretches out his back and rolls his shoulders. Link waits, breathless, watching the soft curves of Rhett’s body as he rises from the bed and makes his way to the window, dragging the sheet from the bed with him like a cape. When he makes it, his eyes half lidded and eyelashes tacky with sleep, Rhett drops a heavy hand to Link’s shoulder and a kiss to the side of his neck. He holds his lips there, breathing through his nose, and for a beat he and Link are motionless. But Rhett moves, nudging Link over with one hand to make room for him to sit on the wide windowsill. The vents below the sill blow icy air on their ankles as they sit, the window fogging up from their breath. Out of the corner of his eye Link sees Rhett crane his neck, peering up into the night sky. He opens his mouth to ask what it is he’s looking for when he answers. 

“Which one d’ya think is Linkstar?” Rhett asks, eyes roving wildly across the vast plain of the night sky. Link matches the angle of his neck to ponder with him. Tearing his eyes from Rhett to look into a wide, wide sky is harder than it has any right to be. 

“It could be any of them,” Link replies. 

“If you had to guess.” 

Link follows Rhett’s gaze, eyes landing on every glistening patch of stars and then moving away. There are too many, an impossible amount, more than Link could count in a dozen lifetimes with Rhett counting at his side. “Oh, I dunno,” Link says, impatient with the game. “They all look the same.”

“They do not!” Rhett says, nothing short of indignant. “Look!” He scoops Link’s hand into his, the bandage on his finger in sharp relief in the moonlight, and he points Link’s first finger for him. Rhett raises their hands together, closing one eye to take aim, and he asks Link to look at where they point. “See that one? It’s so much bluer than the rest! What do you think that is, Link? I see stuff like that and I just…I have no idea, and I wanna know, but you look at the stars and you think you’ll have time later, yanno, and then it’s later and you don’t. I always mean to look it up, what makes some stars so blue. But I haven’t yet.” He drops their hands, shrugging his shoulders, and Link finds his eyes on the constellations of freckles on Rhett’s skin instead of in the sky. 

“Rhett,” he says, and Rhett looks away from the stars to meet Link’s eyes. 

“Yeah?” 

“Thank you.”

“For what?” he asks, cocking his head to the side to a comical degree. 

“For giving me a star,” Link says, trying to give a noncommittal shrug. But his tongue betrays him, spilling thanks. “For loving me. For bein’ here with me. For not giving up on me. For bein’ mine. For always knowin’ the right thing to say.” Rhett scoffs and Link presses the pad of one finger to his lips to quiet him. Rhett kisses it, eyes gleaming with mischief, and he takes Link’s hand in both of his own. He smiles, eyes on their entwined hands, and he presses a row of sloppy kisses to the center of Link’s palm. 

“You’re welcome,” Rhett mumbles into Link’s hand. Link is enraptured as Rhett smiles into his palm, nuzzling into Link’s hand. He gets a kick out it, laughing to himself, and Link takes advantage of his distraction to tickle him under the chin, making him squirm away and burst into genuine, booming laughter. “Stop that!” Rhett says, and Link does. He looks at Rhett for a beat, gnawing on his lip, dazzled by the starlight bouncing off the gray of Rhett’s eyes. 

“I love you,” Link says, and Rhett nods. 

“Yeah,” he says. “I know.” All at once Link is hit with the words Rhett does not say, the weight of three tiny, meaningless words heavy on his chest. 

“Say it, then,” Link says, and he should expect Rhett’s reply.

“It, then,” Rhett parrots, and Link is still surprised. He swats at Rhett’s bare knee and Rhett’s lips quirk up, sadness tightening up the corners. 

“Tell me you love me,” Link says. “If you love me, then tell me.” Rhett looks hard at him, humor gone from his eyes. 

“Last time I told you I loved you, you tried to throw a mug at my head and you told me you could never see me again and die happy.” Link winces at the memory of the last time, the last big fight before the end. He remembers the way his fingers curled around the handle of his mug, the one with the garish orange emblem that symbolized all the amazing things they had put into the world that they were going to throw away. He remembers trying to throw it and Rhett catching his arm, face empty of anything resembling love, and had Rhett really said it that day? Was that really the last time? 

“I’m sorry,” Link says. 

“I know you are,” Rhett replies, curt. He looks down at his hands and then back out the window, eyes reflecting moonlight. 

“As long as you feel it, you don’t have to say it,” Link says. “So long as I know it’s real, I won’t ask you to tell me again.” Rhett glances his way, eyebrow arching up, eyes wide. 

“Link,” Rhett says, giving his head a sad little shake. Link sits hunched up on himself and tries still to make himself smaller. 

“Yeah?”

“I’ll cut you a deal,” he says. 

“Okay.” Link nods, agreeing without knowing the terms, willing to take whatever it is Rhett offers. In the moonlight he is impossibly beautiful, a sick surge of guilt blooming in Link’s chest as he lets himself believe Rhett is the most beautiful thing he has ever seen. 

“I’ll say it back,” Rhett says, reaching out for Link in the semidarkness of almost morning. “I’ll say it back when I am the only one who has you.” Link balks, immediate, and Rhett’s shoulders drop almost imperceptibly. The moment Rhett begins to slump where he sits Link is gone, his hands all over Rhett, searching for somewhere to land. Like hummingbirds his fingertips touch down on the sides of Rhett’s neck, cradling, curling into the spots behind his ears. 

“Oh, Rhett,” he says without much else to say. Rhett regards him, eyes half lidded, and they drop down to search Link’s parted lips. When they flick back up, impossibly bright, Link feels like kissing them. He surges forward, Rhett exhaling as Link presses a kiss to the soft spot under each eye, one after the other. It takes no urging at all to get Rhett back in bed, Link pulling him down to the mattress and throwing the sheets over their heads. Engulfed in white, the morning threatening to eat them alive, Link and Rhett watch each other across the vast space of the bed between them. Link has never wanted anything worse in his life than he wants to kiss Rhett until he cries, making damn sure with every press of his lips that Rhett knows he is Link’s. “Tell me,” Link says, “tell me one time you wanted to kiss me and you didn’t. And hey, I’ll…I’ll cut you a deal. You tell me and I’ll kiss you twice t’make up for it. Yeah?” Rhett chuckles, the mattress vibrating with his laughter, his mouth twitching up. 

“Sure,” he says. He slides one hand across the mattress and Link meets him in the middle, tangling their fingers up. “Easy. The time we almost drowned in the Cape Fear River.”

“What?” Link replies. His voice is weak and shaky, a testament to his resolve. It could have happened yesterday, Link stepping into the icy river one day after school and Rhett leaping in after him. It could have been yesterday, Rhett staring at Link with his mouth slack and his face horrifically white as they lay on the river bank. They hauled themselves up, limbs sore and bruised and battered, and they huddled for a long, long while in the mud and tried to pull themselves together. It could have been yesterday, Link panicked they were going to die out in the woods or even worse, they were going to be grounded and banned from making missteps together for the foreseeable future. To think Rhett pressed his fingers to Link’s lips to tell him they were tinged blue and to think Rhett wanted more…

“You were so scared,” Rhett says, letting go of Link’s hand to press careful fingers to Link’s cheek. “And you had mud right here.” He presses the spot and Link winces at the echo of the riverbed on his skin, the ice of it as close to him as the pain in his ring finger. “And your eyes were so big. I woulda laughed if I coulda caught my breath. But I wanted to make you…I dunno. I wanted to make you stop bein’ scared. And I thought maybe if I kissed you, it would distract you enough to calm you down.”

“Sure,” Link laughs. “That’s the only reason?” Sure, he was scared and panting and panicked and cold, but would a kiss have solved all of that? He doesn’t quite want to think about it, the memories clamoring for attention. It was a strange time in his life, in their lives, when Rhett and Link were trying to find a new rhythm in the wake of girlfriends, almost girlfriends, and crushes that led to nothing. They had to find a new way to come together, making time for one another in the midst of homework, basketball games, awkward dates and countless other silly teenage things. Now it seems they do the same again, trying desperately to relearn all the things they have forgotten. 

“That,” Rhett says, the familiar faraway husk to his voice, “and I thought, when you disappeared in the river, I coulda lost you. It was the scariest thing I could have ever imagined, losing you like that.” He ponders, stroking Link’s cheek with his thumb. “Losing you at all,” he amends. Link turns his cheek to kiss the pad of Rhett’s thumb, Rhett pressing back into the touch of Link’s lips. 

“You didn’t lose me,” Link says. 

“For a while I did,” Rhett reminds him. Even in the softest moments, in the brief flashes of relief, reality has to come crashing back down around Link’s ears. 

“I dunno how many more times I can say I’m sorry, Rhett,” he says, not angry, not quite, but something close. He can’t help it; Rhett gave him no choice. Rhett was resolute, the stronger of the two, utterly certain he was in the right. What the hell else could Link have done but turn and run the other way? Admitting the truth before they lost one another would have ended everything. Where would they stand now if Link had let Rhett tell his wife everything? He closes his eyes against the thoughts of the future they could have had and Rhett lets him. 

“I’m not mad at you anymore,” Rhett replies. “I didn’t want to. But I forgave you the minute you called me and left me that stupid voicemail message.” Link opens his eyes at the insistence of Rhett’s fingers on the apples of his cheeks. He finds Rhett smiling wanly, like he has been broken and healed and broken again. Link supposes he has. Rhett’s side of the bargain fulfilled, a story told of a kiss they could have shared, Link holds up his end. He scoots closer to Rhett under the shroud of sheets, sliding one knee in between Rhett’s, wrapping an arm around his waist. Rhett is motionless, lying in wait for Link to make the first move, and Link does. He cups Rhett’s jaw in one hand and brings their lips together, a chaste kiss that still has his stomach doing flips. Rhett sighs into it, all heat and exhaustion, and his hand glides down the curve of Link’s body to rest on his hip. Link wants the heat of Rhett’s palm on his skin for as long as he can have it. 

What does it matter if Rhett will never again admit he loves Link still in so many words? Despite his unwillingness to break down again, to say it as often as he means it, Link hears it in the way Rhett’s tongue meets his own. Even deafened by the pounding of his own heart in his ears Link hears the love Rhett pours into every sound that escapes his mouth. He sighs Link’s name and the power he puts into Link’s hands by breathing him in overwhelms him. Rhett loves him. He knows that; he knows. He might not be able to say it, not this morning, not ever, but since when has Link needed those nonsense words to know for sure? Rhett has loved him all their lives despite everything in him that told him not to, despite everything Link has thrown at him. Link can survive without hearing him say it. 

Can’t he? 

Under the moonlight they kiss, trading lazy, lingering touches down spines and throats and ribs. Link feels like crying out loud as Rhett holds onto him, hands a hell of a lot surer than Link’s could ever be. He clears his throat to keep from whimpering with Rhett’s mouth on him, steady and hot and everywhere. It proves to be useless when Rhett nips at Link’s lips and he releases a shaky moan. 

The sky outside the hotel room begins to lighten as Link’s heart grows heavier. Every moment he spends hiding in Rhett’s arms is another moment closer to having to face tomorrow. Rhett starts to doze off, going quiet and limp as he holds loosely onto Link, and Link shakes him awake. 

“Don’t leave me,” Link asks of him, for what feels like the hundredth time. And Rhett smiles, tired and slow, open and sure.

“Never, baby,” Rhett replies. His voice is slurred with sleep and desperately Link loves him, anxiety making him cling tight. Rhett rolls over away from Link to lie on his back, flopping one arm out on the mussed up bed. Link sits up and falls into it, Rhett dragging Link in to his chest. Rhett kisses the side of Link’s head and tries to go back to sleep with his hand on Link’s shoulder and his face pressed into his hair. 

“Don’t leave me,” Link says again.

“’M right here.” 

“Stay awake with me.”

“I am.” Even as he says it Rhett drifts back off to sleep. It’s not like him to fall asleep so easily and Link does not let himself wonder if it’s his presence that eases Rhett’s mind. It’s not like Link to toss and turn, wide awake, but as the sun begins to rise he finds himself no closer to sleep. 

“Rhett?” Link says, his voice enough to rouse Rhett from whatever dreams had him humming. 

“Mmm?” he replies. 

“Can I tell you a time I wanted to kiss you?” Link asks. “And…and I didn’t?”

“Mhm,” Rhett hums in reply. Link dances his fingers down Rhett’s bare chest, his skin made sticky with sweat and salt, and he marvels at the softness of the hair there. He runs his fingers through it and Rhett catches his hand to still him, mumbling in sleepy almost words that Link is tickling him. 

“Listen to what I’m about to tell you, Rhett,” Link says, tugging lightly at Rhett’s chest hair until he squirms. 

“I am, honey,” Rhett coos with a yawn. 

“When you told me you’d die for me,” Link says, and Rhett’s teeth click together as Link shakes him from his yawning. “And you didn’t think I was listenin’. I was. But I didn’t think about it ‘till I watched it back, Rhett, and I saw the look on your face when you said it…I wanted to find you and I wanted to tell you how much I loved you, right then and there.”

“Ah,” Rhett sighs, his voice almost singsong. 

“I shoulda told you I’d do the same for you.”

“Honey…”

“I would have. I would. But you’re stupid and if it came to it, if one of us had to die and…”

“Why is anyone dyin’ here, baby?” Rhett sighs. He buries his nose in Link’s hair as the light inside the room shifts from midnight blue to navy. 

“Hypothetically, if it had to be one of us, you’d never let me go. You’d be a moron and try to die for me, wouldn’t you?”

“Yeah,” Rhett breathes, no hesitation. It scares the hell out of Link. He tries not to let on. 

“You can’t pretend you don’t love me, then.”

“I never pretended that.” Rhett gives up on going back to sleep, stroking up and down Link’s bicep with slow fingertips. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“What is it, really? What’s with the questions?”

“I’m just trying not to think,” Link murmurs. He traces around one of Rhett’s nipples with his ring finger, tweaking at it until Rhett laughs and swats halfheartedly at his hands again. 

“You’re an expert on not thinking, Link,” Rhett says. 

“Shuddup,” Link replies. They have something easy going for the moment, a familiar motion they both know by heart, and Link wants nothing more than to keep it and never let it break. But morning comes like it does every day and just like every day Link has to let the world drag itself from sleep. But he has a few hours more, the morning young, and he has a few hours to keep Rhett all to himself. He has time to be nothing more than Rhett’s Link, Rhett’s best friend, Rhett’s lover. He is going to take all that he can get. 

And then he is going to take more.


	9. We've Done Nothing Wrong

Link startles himself out of sleep close to noon, awaking to find Rhett gone. He sits up too fast and his head spins but there Rhett is, sitting in the office chair by the hotel room’s tiny desk, absolutely dwarfing it. He sits with his back to Link, spine hunched up funny as he writes in a hotel notepad. He wears jeans and socks and nothing else, the bright sunlight streaming through the window lighting up the freckles on his bare shoulders. Link tries his best to be silent as he slides out of bed and tiptoes across the carpet. Even so Rhett says his name as Link creeps up behind him, winding his arms around his shoulders and draping himself over Rhett. He leans gingerly, careful not to put too much pressure on Rhett’s back, but Rhett reaches one hand out behind himself and cups the back of Link’s head to pull him closer. 

“G’morning,” Rhett says, scratching idly at Link’s scalp. “You get any good sleep?”

“Not really,” Link replies. He sinks his chin to Rhett’s shoulder and Rhett slides his free hand over the notepad he scribbles on, hiding the page from Link. “Whatcha writing?”

“A song, I think,” Rhett says. He lets go of Link to play with his pen, the hotel logo printed on the side. He taps it on the wood of the desk, playing a beat Link doesn’t recognize, and Link’s teeth click together painfully as Rhett shrugs. 

“I can’t see?” Link asks. 

“No,” Rhett replies. “It’s not...it’s not our usual thing.”

“Hm,” Link hums, turning his head to press a kiss to the side of Rhett’s neck. “What is it, then?” He takes advantage of Rhett’s complacence under his lips to try and reach for the paper under his hand. Rhett pulls it away, chuckling, smacking the back of Link’s hand with his pen. 

“It’s just a song,” Rhett says. “Don’ worry about it.” He rips the page from its pad and crumples it in his fist, shoving it into the front pocket of his jeans and turning in his chair to look up at Link. His face is soft, eyes rimmed in red from lack of sleep, and Link does the only thing he can think to do. He cups Rhett’s jaw in one hand and kisses him, a tender kiss with which Link tries to say _I am going to do all I can to deserve the way you look at me_. He can’t do much else but hope Rhett hears it. He pulls away and Rhett tells him he needs to brush his teeth and there’s the moment broken, Link jabbing at Rhett’s shoulder and telling him he’s one to talk. Rhett laughs, a quiet version of the laugh Link knows and loves, and Rhett grabs Link by the waist when he tries to walk away. He drags Link into his lap, pulling him close, pressing scratchy, messy kisses into the hollow of Link’s throat. 

“Hey, hey!” Link laughs, shoving halfheartedly at Rhett’s strong hands. “I can’t brush my teeth if you don’t lemme go!” Rhett laughs again against Link’s skin and tells him he is never, ever letting go. “You have to eventually, man,” Link tells him, and Rhett deflates.

“I know,” he says. “But I wanna pretend this is my life for just a little longer.” 

“Your life is me sittin’ in your lap while you write songs?” Link asks. 

“Mhm,” Rhett hums. “You’re sitting in my lap and I’m working on somethin’ good, somethin’ new, and it’s raining. There’s a fire goin’, even, a fire I built, and maybe we even have music playing while we work. Whaddya say? Can I pretend that’s the life we’ve got for a little bit more?” Link pauses with his hand held possessively on the back of Rhett’s neck, the nape in need of a shave, and he tells Rhett he can. Sure, he can. They sit in agreeable silence for a while, the sun streaming through the window telling Link they will run out of time sooner or later. In the end Rhett reminds him, so gently it hurts his heart, that they are here for a reason. 

“We gotta go, baby,” he whispers, mouth at Link’s throat. Link tightens his fingers on Rhett’s neck and he hisses in pain but doesn’t move. (And isn’t that something; Rhett will sit still forever and let Link hurt him again and again.)

Despite every bone in his body telling him not to Link rises and gets himself ready to face the girl he followed all the way home. Rhett moves at his side, the two of them brushing their teeth in perfect tandem, brushing their hair and Link watching as Rhett shoves his up skywards. Link gave it a try for a while, the artful look Rhett has mastered, but with his hair long and untamable the only thing Link can do is wet it and try to force it down. 

“Lemme help,” Rhett says, and Link looks up at him as he tucks loose locks of hair behind Link’s ears. Link tries to fight him off, telling him it looks stupid like that, but Rhett leans down to press a kiss to his lips and he gives up on trying. Rhett wets his hands in the tiny bathroom sink and smooths down the wild, unruly locks of hair sticking out on either side of Link’s head. 

“You know it’s hopeless, man,” Link says. For his impatience he is gifted another kiss, this one presented to him with a hum from the back of Rhett’s throat. He loves this. He loves it, taking the time to fuss over Link, and it makes his stomach twist. So many times they helped each other get ready for events, doing up one another’s ties and fixing each other’s lapels. So many times they have smiled at once another, checking for anything in their teeth, and so many times they had stood toe to toe like this to make sure they looked all right in the eyes of the other man. This time is different. This time Rhett gifts Link peppermint scented kisses that make his heart soar, far and away from all the times they got ready together and then stepped away from one another when they were done. This is far away from prom night, from Link’s wedding, from Rhett’s, from all the parties and award ceremonies and everything in between. This is something they have never shared before. And it makes Link feel so heavy he doesn’t know what to do. 

“You look fine,” Rhett says, giving him a once over and a smile, taking one step back with his hands on Link’s shoulders to admire his work. And then his smile fades as he says, “Everything’s gonna be fine. You’re gonna be fine.”

“Oh?” Link says. “Then why do I feel like I might be walking to my death?” 

“You might be,” Rhett says, his attempt to make Link laugh for the moment futile. Unable to make Link smile, Rhett lets his own smile fall. “Link,” he says, the sudden drop in the timbre of his voice making Link shiver. 

“Yeah?”

“Are you going to tell her, Link?” Rhett’s eyes bore into him, his neck bent down at the awkward angle he’s held his whole life to talk to Link, head bowed. 

“Am I gonna tell her what?” Link asks even though he knows damn well what. He tries to dart away from Rhett but Rhett doesn’t let him go. 

“Are you going to tell Christy that we’re…?”

“No.” Link tries to be blunt, short, but Rhett is not having it. He frowns, eyes downcast, and Link wants to snap and tell him to go back to pretending everything is just fine. 

“Then what _are_ you going to tell her?”

“Nothin’,” Link says. “I’m just here to get my wife and take her home. Who says I gotta tell her anything, man? What good d’you think that’ll do, huh?” He speaks harshly and Rhett takes a step back. Link catches sight of a bruise on the side of his throat and tries not to scream out loud. Why did he put that mark there? What was he trying to prove? In the garish light of day it’s hard to remember. All he feels now is sick, twisted up and small. Rhett’s eyes all over his face do nothing to make it better. 

“Is your plan to keep it from her forever?” Rhett asks. 

“Yes.” And then, “What the hell does it matter, anyway? It’s not like you told Jessie. You’re one to preach to me about tellin’ the truth, Rhett.” He’s being a jerk and he knows it but once he starts it’s hard to stop, trying and failing again to walk away. There’s nowhere to go but out into the thick, humid air of home but Link has to get out from Rhett’s gaze. 

“I’m gonna tell Jessie,” Rhett says. His voice is so low Link almost misses it. Blocking Link from leaving the bathroom with one hand on the doorframe and the other on Link’s shoulder, Rhett looks down at him like a man desperate for relief. So maybe he is. But right now relief is the last thing Link can give to him. “I’m gonna tell her when we get home. I shoulda told her a long time ago, Link. And you know that.”

“Oh, don’t tell me what I know.” He snaps, petulant, but Rhett is patient and he lifts the hand on Link’s shoulder to brush lightly at his cheek. “If I tell her,” Link says, “it’s all over. It all ends here. If I tell her, Rhett, it’ll ruin everything. I can’t lose my family. I can’t. How can you stand there and ask that of me? Who the hell are you to…?” 

“Don’t fight me,” Rhett asks of him, impossibly gentle. His knuckles brush Link’s cheekbone and then Rhett’s big, warm hand slides to the side of his neck where it stays. “I’m on your side,” he says. “I just…I just think you know you have to tell her. And I can’t believe you still can’t accept it. It’s not right, what we’re doing. You know that, too. Why won’t you just…?”

“You say it like it’s easy,” Link spits, disobeying Rhett with the anger in his voice. “How are you doing this, Rhett? How are you so goddamn sure?”

“Hey, don’t swear at me,” Rhett says. He ducks his head to press his lips to Link’s jaw and the fight leaves him as the strength leaves his knees. “I’m on your side,” he says again, muttering into Link’s skin. “I’m sure because it’s you,” he breathes, lips ghosting down Link’s jaw to his throat. “It’s you and it’s me and that’s how it’s always gonna be. What’s not to be sure of, Link?”

He says it like it’s easy. 

Link takes hold of Rhett’s shoulders to anchor himself to the earth as Rhett presses soft kisses to every bit of Link he can. With his fingers buried in the fabric of Rhett’s flannel shirt he can hold as tight as he wants. He needs it, fingers curling in deep, twisting up the material at the back of Rhett’s neck. Rhett lets him. 

“What if we do this,” Link says, shaking so hard Rhett has to feel it, “and it all goes wrong?”

Rhett chuckles into the hollow of Link’s throat, all pressure and give. “It can’t go any more wrong than what we’ve got, Link. There’s nowhere else to go from here but someplace good.”

“Oh, Rhett, that’s…” He tries to say that’s ridiculous, that’s _bullshit_ , but Rhett’s beard tickling his neck renders him boneless and wordless and numb. All he can do is cling to Rhett and hope Rhett doesn’t let go. 

“Whatever happens today, Link,” Rhett says, “I need you t’know I’m on your side. ‘M always gonna be on your side.” 

“Okay,” Link says with a stark lack of anything else better to say. Rhett nuzzles against his ear, arms closing around Link’s middle, and Link holds him equally tight. “Okay.”

 

Link quakes as he and Rhett take a cab to rent a car. His knees smack one another over and over as he sits, head between his hands, in wait of Rhett as he signs paperwork for a shiny borrowed Camry in a boring shade of navy blue. Rhett takes the keys and lopes back across the lobby of the rental place to meet Link, dropping a hand on his shoulder and squeezing. He passes Link the keys and this is it. This is Link’s last chance to run away, to change his mind, to go back to LA without his wife and without any hope of ever getting her back. This is his last chance to go home and tell his children their mother has finally wised up and left him; this is his last chance to do the right thing and call her and tell her the whole truth and let her decide where her future lies. 

He takes the keys from Rhett with trembling hands and Rhett lets the brush of their hands linger. Right now Link is not going to do the right thing. Doing right by his family is something he has not been able to do in a long, long time. Why the hell should he start now? 

In the rental Rhett sits in the passenger seat, taking control of the radio and turning a country station on low. The twangy music makes Link think of home and he asks Rhett to choose anything else, please, something that won’t yank painfully at the strings tied around his heart. Rhett obliges. The next thing he chooses is soft rock, something with a hell of a lot less substance and a hell of a lot less meaning to either one of them. Link sits easier this way, relaxing enough to lean back in his seat as he drives. He knows the way to Christy’s family’s home by heart, having driven there for countless birthdays, holidays, and every celebration in between. What he drives there for now is a world away from the last time he came home. They were here for Christmas and Rhett and Link were not speaking, passing one another by and pretending not to know the other man was home, too. How Link survived a Christmas without Rhett at his side, he has no idea. He drives now with his knuckles white and tries to shove the memories as far from him as he can get them. They hurt too much, a hollow thrumming in Link’s chest as he tries to disengage, but they cling to him like glue and he can’t shake them off. 

“What is it you can’t work out?” Link’s mother asked him last Christmas, all wide eyes and downturned lips. “I find it hard to believe the two of you can’t find a way to work through anything.”

“It’s just work stuff,” Link lied again and again, his wife clinging to his elbow and trying her best to support him even as she knew he did not tell the truth. 

Now everything has turned upside down; it’s Rhett at Link’s side and it’s Christy who stands on the other side of it, waiting for Link to make the right move. When did everything flip over like this? Somehow Link can’t quite remember the last time any of this was easy. 

The drive is too short and the list of wrongs he has done is too long and Link flinches as Rhett places a warm hand on his knee. 

“Don’t,” he says, a warning, but Rhett squeezes and every ounce of fight leaves Link’s body. He wants nothing more than the protective weight of Rhett’s palm on his knee. He lets Rhett keep it there the rest of the drive. At the final turn Rhett tightens his hand and tells Link,

“It’s not too late to turn back.”

“Don’t tempt me,” Link replies. He bounces his knee up and down until Rhett gets the hint and lifts his hand, returning it to his own lap and clasping his hands together. Link thinks of driving by, of passing the house he knows so well, but the car slows down as Link lets go of the gas and he runs out of time to be cowardly. He pulls into the driveway he’s pulled into hundreds of times before. Not until now has he ever felt anything but welcome. But this time it’s different; this time there is no celebration to be had. Link does all he can and he cuts the engine, the radio going dead, and he lifts his head to look at Rhett. Rhett’s eyes are wide, bright in the light of day, and Link wants to kiss him. He wants desperately to kiss Rhett and ignore every other stupid thing in the world, all the things that tell them kissing is the last thing they should do. But out of the corner of his eye Link sees the front door open and he sees his wife step outside alone. His heart leaps into his throat and the moment is over, the moment in which he yearns to kiss Rhett until it hurts. Link looks at Rhett and Rhett looks back, beautiful and somber and everything Link should not get to have. 

“Go get her,” Rhett says, one corner of his mouth twitching up. Christy waits on her parents’ porch and Link is out of time. He takes one last look at Rhett and then with nothing else to do he goes. He hops out of the car and he takes quick steps towards his wife, towards the house, towards whatever else waits for him. Christy’s hair is mussed and her eyes bloodshot but God, she’s a sight for sore eyes. Link hates every part of himself that cries out to touch her; he will not allow himself to reach for the woman who deserves so much better than him. 

She reaches out for him. 

Despite himself, despite Rhett watching him, Link falls into Christy’s arms. She holds onto him, clinging tight, barking a sob into the same spot on his throat where Rhett placed his lips. “Oh, Link,” she breathes, so tiny in Link’s arms. She smells the same as always, vaguely like soap and her shampoo, and Link holds onto her as she cries. She says tiny things in her tiny voice like, “I can’t b-believe you c-came after me,” and, “Why d-did you come after m-me?” Link lets her cry. She shivers and shakes in the wet heat of midafternoon and Link feels himself being torn in two. He can feel Rhett’s eyes on him and his wife trembles in his arms and who the hell does he think he is, anyway? Who the _hell_ does he think he is? 

“Why did you run away from me?” Link asks her, his face pressed into her hair. 

“I was scared!” she cries, sniffling and wheezing in Link’s ear. “I was so s-scared you were gonna leave me and I w-wanted to do the l-leaving before I could l-lose you…” She weeps and Link is sorry; he’s so sorry he could sink beneath it. Behind Link the door of the rental car opens and slams shut and Rhett is here; Rhett isn’t going anywhere. Rhett’s presence is the last thing Link wants to forget. Christy’s head snaps up from Link’s shoulder and she lets go of him, taking a step back just like Rhett did in the hotel room they share. (Sooner or later everyone learns to step away from Link.) Her eyes are wet and her pretty face streaked with tears as Christy looks over Link’s shoulder to watch Rhett. Link doesn’t look back. 

“Did you come here to tell me you are leaving me, Link?” she asks, voice steady and sure all at once. She does not look at him. She looks at Rhett. 

“No,” Link tells her. 

“Then why are you here?”

“To take you home, Christy,” he says. The sound of Rhett taking slow, careful steps towards them trips up Link’s heart and sends it leaping into his throat. He should have thought this through; he should have come alone. This would be easy if he had Christy to himself. He could tell her anything he wanted; he could tell her anything to get her to come home. With Rhett so close Link could turn around and kiss him it gets impossible to lie. Suddenly Link feels he could suffocate between the two people he would do anything to keep. 

“I told you to call me,” Christy says, standing like an animal before a speeding car as she stares behind Link at Rhett. “I told you, if you wanted me, to call me. Why didn’t you call me?”

“I’m sorry,” Link says. To tell the truth would be to destroy her. How could he possibly look her in the eye and tell her he missed her call because he and Rhett were in bed together? (She has to know; she _has_ to know.) Her wide, open eyes tell Link she has no idea. She believes in Link and it kills him, the trust she places in his hands. It kills him, the way her eyes go up in flames as she lays them on Rhett. They embraced like children back home in LA and now Christy watches Rhett like she braces herself to fight, little hands held in tight fists. For his part Rhett is silent and Link doesn’t know if he wants Rhett to fix this or keep quiet. More times than he could ever count Rhett has saved him, speaking up as Link floundered, but this time he says nothing. Link is on his own. 

(The sun beats down on Link, unaware anything is different as bit by bit Link’s world falls apart.)

“You said you wanted to make this work,” Christy says, voice cracking, and this is not the first time Link has broken her heart. This is not the tenth time. He has tried his best and he has given all he could to his wife. He has loved her as hard as he could and they have been blissful, desperately in love. But he has hurt her and he has hurt her more than once and years of pain well up in her eyes as she lowers them to look away from Rhett to look at Link. “You said you wanted me.” 

“I do,” he says as she wipes at her eyes. “I do, God, I do, but…”

“Oh, but!” she shrieks, silencing Link with the fury in her voice. “There’s always a _but_ now! But I don’t understand, but you need to be alone, but you love him!” She shouts and throws her hands up to the sky, all composure leaving her, and it’s been years since Link has seen her like this. She opens her mouth to scream and all at once Rhett is at Link’s side.

“Christy,” he says, soft, and Christy erupts.

“Fuck _off_!” she shouts, fists curling up. Never has she screamed at Rhett, not once, and all three of them freeze in the driveway in the echo of Christy’s voice. Shocking herself into silence, Christy buries her face in her hands. Link reaches for her, hands brushing her shoulders, and she takes a rapid step back. “Leave me alone, Link,” she says, shaking her head, hair falling over the fingers she has splayed across her cheeks. And then, “I think you should leave.” 

“Christy, no…”

“Don’t talk to me!” she barks. “Don’t you talk to me.” 

“Christy, you can’t stay here forever.”

“No, but neither can you.” She drops her hands and shoves her hair back with both hands, looking so small Link feels he could crush her with a glance. For all he knows, he could. “How _dare_ you come here and ask for me to come home when you can’t even come alone.” And she looks at him, as beautiful as the day Link met her, and she tells him the same thing a softer version of her told him over the phone. “If he’s what you want,” she says, not looking at Rhett anymore, “go home with him. I don’t wanna be second place in your heart anymore, Link. It’s not fair to me.” 

“You’re not…”

“And it’s not fair of you to stand here in my driveway and keep tellin’ lies,” she says, cutting him off before he can begin. “I’m not an idiot, Link,” she says. “I told you before. Your heart hasn’t been mine in a long, long time.” 

Link tries to speak but nothing comes out. He tries again, clearing his throat, panic constricting him like a snake, but again Christy shakes her head. 

“Don’t bother, Link,” she says. “Look.” She unclenches her fists, taking breaths so deep her shoulders shake. “I’ll come home with you. I shouldn’t have run away. But there’s a world of things you’re keeping from me and if you wanna keep me you have to tell me everything.” Link’s silence is all she needs to know how right she is. She nods to herself, squaring up her shoulders, and she tries to make herself bigger as she faces Link and Rhett. “That’s settled, then,” she says. As she quiets the curtain by her parents’ front door moves. Link’s heart stutters in his chest at the sight of his father-in-law watching him through the window. Christy follows Link’s gaze, turning her head to wave her father away, but Bobby has never been one to shy away from a conflict when he sees one. He drops back the curtain and disappears from the window only to pull open the front door and step outside. 

“You all right?” he calls to his daughter, to Link’s wife, and Link suppresses the urges of equal strength to both flee and fight. 

“Yes!” Christy tells him. “Yes, I’m okay!” But Bobby closes the door behind him and makes his way down the driveway, Link’s heart picking up in double time as his father-in-law closes the space between them. 

“She’s been cryin’ all day,” Bobby says, narrowed eyes set hard on Link. “I don’ know what’s goin’ on here but if you’ve done anything to…”

“I’m fine, Dad,” Christy says, facing him with her hands out and palms up, indicating peace. “Please let me talk to my husband.”

“He won’t be your husband for long if he’s done wrong by you, Christy,” Bobby says, a threat in every deep corner of his voice. 

“Dad, please! Please stay out of this.” As Christy tries and fails to placate her father, the man stepping into Link’s space, Rhett intervenes. 

“Hey, let’s not get fighting here,” he says, one arm between Link and his father-in-law. His arm brushes Link’s chest and the touch has him scattered, brainless under the North Carolina sun. He feels dangerously close to losing it, to passing out, to losing his grip on the world around him. Rhett’s arm pressed to his chest does nothing at all to help. 

“You stay out of this,” Bobby says, squaring up to Rhett, making himself as tall as he can. “Your name came up in all of this, boy, and don’t think I don’t know just what part you play in this.” His fury silences Rhett. His fury silences all of them. The four of them stand under the relentless sun, in the relentless light of day, all tight faces and tightened fists. Christy is the first to speak. The deadly calm of her voice is enough to send a spike of ice crashing through Link’s heart. 

“Dad, please go inside,” she says. “I’m a big girl and I can handle this myself. Rhett, get the hell in the car. I need to talk to my husband on his own.” Reluctant, angrier than Link has ever seen him, Bobby listens to his daughter. He jabs a finger in Link’s direction and tells him, 

“If I hear one bad word about you I’m flyin’ across the country to kill you myself.” Christy scowls at him and swats at his arm, shooing him towards the door where his wife waits, and he turns away. She watches him go inside, shaking his head as his wife, and she only turns back to Link once the front door closes behind them. 

“Get out of my face right now, Rhett,” she says, her head tilted up to an almost comical angle as she speaks to Rhett. 

“Christy, I’m as much a part of this as…” Rhett tries, but she lunges forward like a scared animal and shoves him with both hands. The move is so uncharacteristic, so unlike anything Link has seen her do since she was so much younger, that he stands still and lets her push Rhett again. Rhett stumbles back, hitting the rental car with the backs of his knees and landing on his ass on the hood. Link watches the scene unfold like it happens far from him. He wishes desperately to be anywhere but here but his wish remains un-granted. 

“Get in the car,” Christy says again, face to face with Rhett as he sits on the hood of the car, and this time he has nothing to say. She has nothing more to say to him, either, turning to face Link as Rhett rises to his feet. Rhett looks at Link, a question in the downturn of his lips, and Link shakes his head. No, Rhett can’t help him. No, Rhett can’t save him from this. No, there is nothing Rhett can do. No, Link has a lot of things to fix and not a lot of things Rhett can solve. Without a word Rhett takes the shake of Link’s head as an answer and returns, head bowed, to the car. 

“Tell me the truth and tell me now,” Christy says, arms crossed on her chest like she can protect herself from Link. “Tell me everything. Why did you follow me here if you would rather be with him? What the hell am I supposed to do, Link? Wait around forever for you to make up your mind?” 

It’s the same fear Rhett shares and the bitterness in her voice is just the same as Rhett’s. 

“I followed you b’cause I love you,” Link says. “And you can’t just hide here. You can’t just leave the kids like that.”

“Oh, you had no qualms about leaving us,” Christy shoots back. 

“I did,” Link replies. “It was stupid of me. But I missed him, Christy, and he wanted some time away to…”

“To do what?” she says. She hisses through her teeth so Rhett can’t hear, so her parents can’t hear, and Link has never felt so exposed. 

“To reconnect,” Link says lamely. Something in his voice gives Christy all she needs. 

“You cheated on me,” she says. “Didn’t you. With him.” Her voice is hollow. Link would stop the world on its axis to get her to scream again, to cry. The lack of emotion in her voice makes Link’s blood run cold. He does the worst thing he could do. He lies. 

“No,” he breathes. “God, no. Christy, I could never…”

“He has marks on his throat, Link,” Christy says flatly. And Link falters. “You really think I’m stupid, don’t you?” she asks. “Tell me the truth. Right now. I won’t ask again.” 

Link turns his head to look at Rhett. Rhett looks up at him from inside the rental car, his eyes wide and his lips parted. From a distance Link can almost pretend he is not lost completely in the man who locks eyes with him. Almost. But he can’t. He looks back at his wife, at the woman who holds his world in both hands, and this is his last chance. This is the last chance he will ever get to lie, to keep her, to placate her, to get her back and bring her home. 

He lets the moment pass him by. 

“I cheated,” Link confesses. Christy exhales like she’s been hit and Link goes on. “I cheated, Christy. I slept with him. I did. But not just this time. Last year, too. For months. And he tried to tell the truth back then I wouldn’t let him. That’s why we…that’s why everything fell apart. That’s why the show ended. That’s why I ran away and took us away and that’s why I’ve been lost. B’cause I fell in love with him and I’m still in love with you and I wanted so goddamn bad to keep both of you.” In the wake of his confession Link feels like dying, like screaming, like praying, like crying. His wife stands before him with her hands in little fists and he loves her- God, does he love her. She stands still, robotic in the way she blinks at him, horror dawning on her face. The woman he loves stands with hatred in her eyes and Link waits for the rest of the dominos to topple before him. 

“You…you…” she gasps, choking on her words as she flounders. “Oh, God, Link.” She covers her mouth with both hands, taking a step back, staggering on weak knees. A better man than Link would go to her, would help her stand. But a better man than Link would never have broken her in the first place. Not ever. All he can do now is wait for her to end it all, to tear it all to shreds. 

“I’m sorry,” he says. It’s worth nothing, an apology from him, but he offers it anyhow. He loves her, so much it hurts, and to see her breaking down before him is too much for him to bear. 

“Don’t!” she cries. “Don’t!” Behind Link Rhett opens the car door again, stepping out, heading their way. He must have heard it all, Christy shouting too loud to be ignored, and she shouts at Rhett to stay away as he makes his way to Link’s side. Link doesn’t look at Rhett. He doesn’t dare. He feels Rhett’s presence at his side and waits for the end to come. 

“Go home, Link,” Christy says from behind her hands. “I’ll be home soon. I’ll call the kids and tell them everything. God, Link, how am I going to explain to them you’ve slept in Rhett’s bed just like you’ve slept in mine?”

And it never crossed Link’s mind, the thought of his children knowing every awful thing he’s done and every place he’s let himself be touched by Rhett, and his heart seizes painfully in his chest. 

“Don’t tell them,” he pleads. “Not without me. Please, come home and we can sit them down together and…and…”

“And what?” Christy barks. 

“We’ll tell them the truth,” he offers, praying against everything it won’t come to that. Somehow Christy will change her mind, will let him lie, will let him tell their children that sometimes moms and dads simply fall out of love and that’s the way life is. The thought of lying to them hurts too much to dwell on but Link has no other plans, no other ideas, and he bows his head against the fury of his wife. “Please just don’t talk to them without me. Promise me.”

“I owe you promises now?” Christy asks. “I don’t owe you anything, Link.”

“You owe them peace of mind,” he snaps back, the only thing keeping him steady the thought of his children hating him as much as Christy does. “That’s all.” He gets to her, he finally gets to her, and her shoulders sag. 

“I’ll be home soon,” she says again, once again hollow. Barren. A shell. Link did that to her; he wrecked her. He is never going to recover from the way she looks at him. “Tell them I’ll be home tomorrow. You better be there, too.”

“I will be,” Link promises. He waits for Christy to make a move, to go to him or to run the other way. When she stays still Link takes a step towards her. He should expect it when she backpedals to keep space between them but still his heart drops to his knees. “I love you,” he tells her. 

“Don’t,” she replies. “Go home. Get our kids. And wait for me. I’ll be there soon.” Eyes wet, tears on her cheeks, Christy turns away. Link opens his mouth to call her back, to beg, to take it all back, but his wife buries her face again in both hands as she makes her way to her parents’ front door and Link does nothing to stop her. 

He never does anything when it counts. 

He watches her go and he watches her mother pull Christy into her arms, not casting one look Link’s way. He stands for too long in the driveway, long enough for Christy’s father to yank open the door and tell him in simple terms to get the hell out. Link obeys. He climbs into the driver’s seat of the rental car, Rhett silent at his side, and he drops his head to the steering wheel. The horn goes off, scaring the life out of Link, and he sits with his hands in his lap, heart leaping out of control. Eventually Rhett takes pity on him and offers to drive them back to the hotel. Without looking at him Link takes him up on the offer. 

The drive back feels like a thousand miles, the ride endless. Link sits leaning on the cold glass of the passenger side window, Rhett driving with no music on. He pulls the car into the hotel parking lot and asks Link if he’s all right. Numbly, Link shakes his head. Rhett asks him if he’s ready to go inside. Link shakes his head again. Without another word Rhett gets out of the car, walking around the front of it to open Link’s door. He ducks his head to get close to Link and he tells him to get up. 

Link shakes his head. 

Rhett pauses, one hand on the roof of the car and the other on Link’s thigh, and without a moment of hesitation he moves. He hooks one arm under Link’s knees and the other under Link’s shoulder blades, dragging him out of the car. Heedless of his back he carries Link, kicking the car door shut as he goes. Link wants to protest. He wants to be stronger than he is. But he buries his face in the crook of Rhett’s neck and lets himself be carried. They cross the lobby to stares Link feels instead of sees. They step into the elevator and ascend to the seventh floor. Rhett fumbles in his pocket for the room key and opens the door, shutting it with his elbow. Only at the freshly made bed does Rhett set Link down, trying to release him. Link holds on. 

“Hold onto me,” he pleads, cheeks sticky with the traces of tears. Rhett does.


	10. I'm Not Where I Should Be

In the morning, eyes swollen and nose running, Link awakens to find Rhett scribbling over the same piece of ripped notebook paper as yesterday. He watches through bleary eyes the hunch of Rhett’s spine and the speed of his hand. Rhett looks soft and fragile as he writes, pen ceaseless. Link gives him his moment of solitude. It takes him a moment to remember why his eyes hurt, why his throat is raw and tight. When he does he can’t help but release a pained squeak that draws Rhett’s attention. Rhett turns in his chair, too far to touch, and he balances his chin on one fist. Link regards him for a moment, not reaching for his glasses just yet. Without them Rhett’s face is blurred and his eyes impossible to read. Link has the feeling it’s better if he doesn’t know exactly the expression Rhett wears. 

“Hey, honey,” Rhett rumbles, and even from his safe distance Link can see the smile dancing on his lips. “I was gonna let you sleep a little longer. Checkout is in an hour. You should get up.” Link groans and Rhett’s answering laugh sets his heart thumping in double time. “We gotta get home, man,” Rhett says. “You can’t lie there forever.”

“Are you sure?” Link asks. He fumbles for his glasses, sitting neatly folded on the nightstand by the bed, and when he slips them on he finds Rhett looking at him, sympathetic. 

“Well,” Rhett says, “we could always go into hiding. Run away and change our names. We could find a nice new place to live where no one knows who we are.”

“Stop,” Link replies. Rueful, Rhett smiles. He turns his back on Link to go back to his unfurled slip of notebook paper, giving his head a little shake, and Link misses his face desperately from the moment Rhett looks away. Link props himself up on one elbow, watching Rhett as he writes. Rhett wears a faded T-shirt in deep maroon, one Link knows is soft to the touch. He has held fistfuls of the shirt in his hands as he held Rhett, feverish with want. The shirt has been tossed to the side on Link’s bedroom floor. Link has slept in it, stealing it from Rhett because it smells deliciously like his skin. Link opens his mouth to call Rhett’s name but what comes out instead is, “Sweetheart.” 

Rhett responds to the term of endearment like he expected it. “Yeah?” he asks, casual, Link carding his hair back with one shaky hand in the wake of what came unbidden out of his mouth. 

“Lemme look at you,” Link asks of him. He needs to see Rhett and he needs Rhett to see him in return. He feels a little bit less than real as he drags himself from sleep and into the morning. 

“’M busy,” Rhett replies, laughing to himself as again Link lets out a groan. “Get your butt out of bed and c’mere and you can look at me all you want.” Link contemplates the offer but finds his limbs just as shaky as his hands. He feels boneless, tired, and his aching head does nothing to motivate him to rise. 

“Can you come here instead?” he asks. Over his racing pen, Rhett shakes his head. 

“You want me, baby, you come to me.” Exasperated, desperate, and lonely, Link finally obeys. He slips out of bed, still in the clothes he wore yesterday, and Rhett doesn’t turn to watch him as he draws closer. Link hovers his hands over Rhett’s shoulders, fingers outstretched, but he waits to touch them down. There’s no safe place for them to land, every part of Rhett a part Link should not get to touch. But he has to place them somewhere. He can’t stand still forever, almost touching. He has to move. Link pulls in a deep breath and keeps his hands to himself. He crosses his arms over his chest and pinches the inside of his own forearm, grimacing at the pain that acts as an order: leave him be. Rhett must feel him standing close, breathing down the back of his neck, but he doesn’t look back. He writes, filling the page, his messy scrawl growing smaller as it gets closer to the bottom. Link tries to get a look at the words on the page but Rhett has a protective arm curled around it. 

“What’s the big secret?” he asks. 

“No secret,” Rhett replies. 

“Then lemme see.”

“Nope.” 

“So it is a secret.” 

“No! It’s just not done, Link. When it’s finished…” He trails off and Link wants to trail his fingers down the slope of Rhett’s neck. He struggles more than he should to keep from touching, from leaning close, from draping himself over Rhett like he did yesterday morning. 

“When it’s finished?” Link prods. 

“When it’s finished,” Rhett agrees as if he voices a complete thought. He pauses the frantic speed at which he writes to turn the page over and he gives his head another shake. “I mean you’ll see what it is then,” he says. “’M sorry. I’m…I’m a little out of my mind today. Having trouble thinkin’.” Link knows what he means but neglects to tell him so. Rhett must know. 

“I’m sorry,” he says instead, and Rhett cranes his neck to look at Link. Link evades him, sidestepping out of Rhett’s sight, and Rhett chuckles as he chases Link with his eyes. Rhett reaches for Link’s hips and Link takes a step backwards, tripping over one of Rhett’s sneakers on the floor, and he winds up on his ass on the carpet. Rhett watches him curse with bemused amusement on his face, shaking his head as Link picks himself up. 

“You need to be more careful,” Rhett says, the apples of his cheeks made prominent by his radiant smile. “I’m not returning you to your kids in anything but one piece.” The mention of his kids wipes the answering smile off Link’s face. The unpleasant collision of both lives he wants to live makes it hard for him to focus. He watches Rhett’s smile falter and he can’t make himself offer up anything close to reassurance. Rhett pauses, one hand moving to cover up his work, and he cocks his head as he looks up at Link from where he sits. “What’re you thinkin’, bo?” he asks, reaching out for Link with both hands. Without a simple answer, Link steps into Rhett’s waiting arms and sinks into his lap. He hates this, being coddled, being cradled. He has always thought himself better than that, stronger, braver. But every bit of comfort Rhett offers him he snatches up, soaks up, takes and takes and takes. He buries his face in the warm crook of Rhett’s neck, lacing his arms around Rhett’s shoulders, breathing him in deep. Rhett holds Link close and lets himself be held. “You’re all right,” Rhett murmurs. Link lets out a humorless chuckle. 

“Yeah,” he says, voice rusty, pathetic. And then, “Rhett, I’m gonna lose everything.” Rhett noses his way across Link’s jaw, lips brushing his skin.

“Not me,” he says, and Link laughs again. It’s dry, painful, but Rhett offers up gentle kisses just the same. Link accepts each one as Rhett kisses his way down the side of Link’s throat and back up to his ear, nuzzling, arms tight around Link’s waist. 

“Thank God,” Link replies. A surge of guilt follows this, reminding Link of the wrath he incurs simply by allowing himself to be kissed in a musty hotel room. He should not be thanking God for giving him this; he should be waiting for all of it to be taken away. How he can be allowed this, holding Rhett and accepting kisses that tickle his throat, is something hard to grasp. He half expects to be struck down, to be dragged to Hell, to be punished for every wrong he does. But he cards his hand through Rhett’s messy mop of hair and nothing terrible happens. He brushes Rhett’s hair back and strokes careful fingers down the side of Rhett’s jaw. And nothing terrible happens. He loves Rhett; he touches Rhett. He needs Rhett and still nothing terrible happens. Each moment that passes him by in which he gets to sit and touch and love and feel eases more of the panic from the center of Link’s chest. He is allowed this. He is allowed the way Rhett’s big hands cradle his hips. He is allowed Rhett’s hands on his body, Rhett’s breath at his ear. If he is allowed this, why was he taught and threatened and warned that something this good would never be graced by God? 

Rhett’s hands sliding down and Rhett’s teeth on his throat pull Link from the things that threaten to eat him whole. 

“We should go,” Link says, Rhett pulling him impossibly closer. 

“We still have time,” Rhett replies, far and away from telling Link minutes ago they were running out of it. 

“We don’t.” 

“Link…” Rhett breathes, every part of him burning with want all the way to the rumble of his voice. He cradles Link close to his chest and Link can’t think of anything but all the things he stands to lose. Rhett’s heart thumps close to Link’s ear and above all else Rhett is here. That has to mean something. Rhett is here and Rhett is not going to leave him. It’s a small comfort in the wake of every terrible thing Link’s wife slung at him. But as tightly as Rhett clings to him, Link clings back. He pulls at Rhett’s hair until Rhett grunts in pain and then he keeps pulling, eliciting groans that begin to break down in the middle. Rhett touches Link like he might suffocate if he lets go; his hands slide down and down to cup Link’s butt and his fingers dig in deep. With his forehead pressed to Rhett’s shoulder Link shifts until he straddles Rhett’s hips, feeling so small he could disappear. Rhett won’t let that happen to him. He won’t. Feeling protected in Rhett’s arms is nothing new to Link, having been hugged and held and comforted by him for over thirty years. But the feeling of feeling small is something Link never knew he craved until it was his. (His wife is small and his children are small and Link is anything but.) 

Small and safe under Rhett’s hands he finds it hard to conjure up a reason to leave. But as quickly as the moment of closeness began it’s over. Rhett’s phone rings on the bed and he eases Link off his lap to answer the call, placing Link carefully in the desk chair his butt leaves warm. Link settles in, drawing his knees up to his chest as Rhett speaks to Locke, who misses him terribly and wants permission to do something to which his mother said no. 

“If your mom says no the answer’s no, Locke,” Rhett says, playing the stern father with laughter making his eyes sparkle. He mimes to Link his son complaining, wringing his free hand by his face to mimic Locke’s whining. Link can’t help but smile in return. His Rhett always knows how to make him smile even when it’s the last thing he thinks he could possibly do. 

“No, Locke, I mean it,” Rhett says, and Rhett’s elder son whining so loud Link can hear it through the phone. Any other day would have Link covering his ears, thankful it’s not his kids calling him to beg and complain. But today Link has a hole punched in his chest and he misses his kids so much it aches. He wants to take Rhett’s phone off him and ask to talk to them just to hear their voices. But Rhett paces, throwing his hands up and losing his patience bit by bit, packing up his suitcase as he goes. Link thought they would have more time; he yearns to stay here and see all the things he’s missed. But Christy wants him home and home is where he has to go if he wants any hope of keeping all that’s his. The urge to take the rented car and step on the gas all the way back to Buies Creek is one that overwhelms him. If only he could see the streets on which he and Rhett used to ride bikes, where they used to roam, all the pretty places where the air is scented like honeysuckle and the world is quiet. The last place Link wants to be is California, the dry heat a different world than the sticky sweet air of North Carolina. 

“Locke, I’m gonna be home today,” Rhett says, Link following Rhett’s pacing with his eyes. He looks beautiful like this, running one hand through his hair as he gives his head a rueful shake in Link’s direction. “Don’t make me step through the door lookin’ to kill you.” He laughs at the same time Locke does, tinny through the phone. “I mean it,” he says, faking sternness, and God, does Link love him. He loves the soft edges of Rhett’s body as he stands still now in the middle of the hotel room, one hand on his hip and the other on his phone. He loves the hard edges of him, too, the slope of his nose and the sharpness of his tongue as he tries in vain to scold his son. “I love you, too,” he says in the end, and Link closes his eyes against the words Rhett can’t say to him. ( _I’ll say it back when I’m the only one who has you_.) “I’ll see you soon.” Rhett hangs up the phone and he sees it all over Link’s face, the pain three stupid words inflict on him, and pity makes Rhett’s eyes sharp. 

“You should stop thinking for a while,” he says, not unkindly, not for the thousandth time. “You’re gonna explode if you don’t, Link.” His face is soft but Link responds harshly like he always does 

“Good,” he says. “I’d deserve it.” He snaps and Rhett sighs, tossing his phone onto the bed and frowning as he looks at Link. His age shows when he frowns like this, fine lines in his forehead and the threatening shadows of them in the corners of his eyes. Link doesn’t want to think about that, about all the years he and Rhett have wasted under their belts, and he looks away. “No, look at me,” Rhett says. Link does. Head pounding and heart sinking, Link does. And Rhett goes to him. He goes to Link, sinking to his knees, pushing Link’s down and apart to kneel between them. 

“What are you doing?” Link asks. Rhett hushes him. With both hands he brushes Link’s hair from his forehead where it flopped down, tongue between his teeth in concentration. When he is satisfied he drops his hands to Link’s thighs, kneading, easing away some of the latent soreness there. Link grimaces but makes no motion to brush him off. It feels good, being taken care of, and Link lets Rhett push him back in his chair by his chest. He leans back and lets Rhett undo his belt buckle and he lets Rhett slide down the zipper of his jeans. He lets Rhett explore with his hands and then his mouth, soft and warm as Link stares with lips parted at the ceiling. There’s water damage up on the ceiling, the white paint marred by brown streaks of old rains and floods, and Link thinks he might look much the same, damaged by old rains. He drops a hand into Rhett’s hair, pulling, digging his fingernails in, and Rhett responds the same. He squeezes at Link’s thighs, working a rhythm with his mouth Link knows by heart. 

And Link loves him. He loves him, he loves him, and he is going to die for loving him. Link is going to waste away for loving his boy; he is going to let Rhett kill him. He is going to let the world fall apart and he is going to follow suit. He is going to follow Rhett to the end of the world, to the last drop of rain, to the last breath. Link loves him, his beautiful boy, and Rhett says nothing when Link begins to cry. It’s just another terrible bit of him that Rhett accepts; he cries and Rhett would still move the earth for him. Vision blurred by salt drying on his glasses, Link closes his eyes. Tears on his face, Link chases Rhett’s rhythm, rising up over the edge of ecstasy offered to him by Rhett’s tongue. And as he sighs, fisting Rhett’s hair like he means to anchor himself with the weight of his boy, Rhett surges up to press his chest to Link’s. Rhett kisses him and he tastes like himself and he tastes like Link, his hands on the side of Link’s face. He wipes tears from Link’s cheeks with his thumbs, pushing Link’s glasses up onto the top of his head to keep them dry. 

“Don’t cry,” Rhett says. “Baby, you’re so beautiful. You’re so good, Link. Baby, don’t cry.” He babbles, nonsensical, and he lets Link cling to him like it’s the end of the world. Link loves him. And so it just might be. 

 

One more plane ride taken prematurely and Rhett and Link touch down together at home. Link had to bury his face in Rhett’s shoulder as North Carolina fell away from them to keep from crying out loud. He misses home with such severity he feels it could rip him in half if he lets it. Another time, Rhett tells him; they have time to go home later, later, when they can go alone with nothing weighing them down. Link almost laughs. He has never been one to live with nothing weighing him down. Rhett knows it about him as well as he knows everything else but still he tries to console Link by spinning tales of all the familiar places they will visit when next time they make it home. 

Back on solid ground Link chomps on three pieces of spearmint gum to get his ears to pop, Rhett grimacing every time Link’s jaw pops instead. 

“Don’t hurt yourself,” he laughs, and Link looks up at him feeling more than a little weary. Rhett glows, happy, and Link almost hates him for it. Almost. Rhett’s ability to smile is something beautiful about him but something Link has always envied. He wallows, pitiful, as they collect Rhett’s car and throw their bags into the back. Rhett sits behind the wheel with his hands tight on it, his white knuckles the only thing giving him away entirely. He is not half as calm as he appears. He is not half as happy as he wants Link to believe. He proves it by surging across the center console of his car to kiss Link hard, their teeth clacking together in Rhett’s desperation. 

“Ow,” Link says against Rhett’s lips, and Rhett’s hands tighten on the back of his neck as he draws Link closer. They sit in the airport parking lot wasting time, wasting away, wasting each other. Link lets it happen. He lets Rhett kiss him and he kisses back, ferocious, their tongues meeting. Rhett licks and bites his way into Link’s mouth and Link loves him, his desperate, keening, beautiful boy. He loves him as Rhett tries to bruise Link’s lips with his own, kiss after kiss sending Link reeling. This has to end; they have to go and they have to make the drive home. Link has to pull away or Rhett has to come to his senses but neither one of them makes the first move to stop. Link is not going to break the kiss. He wouldn’t dare if his life depended on it. He relies on Rhett for the air he breathes and pulling away means drowning. 

He convinces himself of it so deeply he gasps for air when Rhett’s lips leave him. His mouth burns from Rhett’s beard and Rhett’s breath is on his face and Link chases him. 

“No, no,” he says, desperate, “kiss me, kiss me.” Rhett obeys. He kisses Link’s lips and what was Link so afraid of, anyway? What was it about this that scared him? It was another life, the life Link spent horrified of all the things he felt when Rhett touched him. The boy who was afraid to be touched and felt is gone and Link wants nothing to do with the boys they used to be. They’re here now. It took long enough for the gear shift to dig into Link’s stomach and remind him he’s alive. It took too long and they lost too much time but they’re here now. They are both here now, present and accounted for, frantic and alive. 

Rhett grunts a single word that sends a shockwave down Link’s spine, curling his toes and the tips of his fingers as they dig into Rhett’s hair. “Mine,” he breathes against Link’s lips. And he says it again. “Mine.” And then, “Please.” _Please be mine_. It’s not lost on Link, the plea, the panic, the worry, and the bravado Rhett faked is long gone. In its place is horrifying vulnerability, a vulnerability Rhett has been doing his best to hide since the first time Link called him. Rhett’s shoulders heave and Link hates every part of himself that says _don’t mention it, don’t mention it, don’t mention it_. Rhett deserves the same love he gives to Link; he deserves it back by an extra measure of ten, of a hundred. 

“I love you,” Link tells him, like saying it now fixes every time Rhett said it to him and he refused to say it back. _I love you_ , Rhett said as they made love in the backseat of Rhett’s car, Link in his lap, the two of them banging elbows on the windows and heads on the ceiling. _I love you_ , Rhett said after a fight, his hands on Link’s face and his voice sincere. _I love you_ , Rhett said after a day spent filming, a day in which everything went right for once and they finished with twin smiles on their faces. _We’re doing something good here_ , Rhett said that day, and Link knew he meant more than just the brand new idea and the brand new show. He meant everything, he meant the kisses they shared and the hands they linked together when no one was watching. And Link loved him back. He did, he always did, but he was scared and unprepared and he almost lost Rhett for it. 

He is never going to be able to make up for it all but Rhett is sure as hell going to let him try. 

 

At Rhett’s house Jessie meets them in the driveway, opening her arms for Rhett to step into. He does, leaning into her, and Link looks at his shoes, leaning away. 

“You’re back earlier than I expected,” Jessie says, and Link can feel her eyes on him as she speaks to her husband. “Didja leave poor Chris there all alone?” 

“She’s right behind us,” Rhett says, sparing Link from coming up with a halfhearted lie. “She needed more time to be alone.” Link looks up to find Jessie looking hard at her husband. 

“I hope she’s all right,” she says in the end, dropping her eyes to look at Link. “Is she all right?” 

“No,” Link replies, blunt, angry at the tears pressing all at once behind his eyes. He’s overtired and slow and Jessie is everything he isn’t: vibrant, bright, beaming and beautiful. How Rhett can stand at her side and tell Link he wants him more…Link has no idea. “No, she’s not all right.” Something about the openness of her face and the kindness of her hands as she lays them on Link makes him confess. “She’s comin’ home to leave me, Jess.” And he doesn’t know for sure, how all of this will end, but he knows his wife well enough to know she won’t stoop so low as to come crawling back to him. If she comes home at all it will be to leave. Jessie reacts instantly; she knows exactly what to do. Over fifteen years of seeing Link in weak moments has Jessie ready for him and all the chaos his anxieties entail. She says his name, soft, and like he’s a child she draws him into her arms. 

“Oh, Link,” she says, tiny against his chest, her husband hovering somewhere behind her with his hand cupping the back of his neck and no idea what to do. Link doesn’t blame him. What he does is bury his face in Jessie’s hair and let her hold him (just as he lets her husband hold him when no one is around to see it). With his mouth still raw from Rhett’s beard Link holds his wife to his chest, letting her console him, letting her love him. What kind of person is he? The longer he lives with holes punched in his heart the more he learns he doesn’t like the answer. 

He doesn’t cry. Not now. He watches Rhett over Jessie’s head. Rhett watches him, eyes steely and jaw set hard. Jessie murmurs ridiculous things to Link as she holds him, telling him whatever he needs is his for the taking. Whatever he wants, whatever the kids need, she will be there to help. She will be there to protect them, to love them, to keep them safe. And still Link doesn’t cry. Not now. He tries to thank her but finds his throat sticky. She knows he’s thankful, anyhow. He does not need to tell her. 

When she pulls away to hold him at arms’ length she has tears clinging to the ends of her long eyelashes. She is the picture of every pretty thing Rhett has and loves and holds, every little thing he is willing to sacrifice for a life with Link. And what kind of person is he to let that happen? 

“Can I see my kids, Jess?” he asks, voice shaky to the point of incoherence, but with her eyes wide Jessie nods. 

“They’re playing inside,” she says, her hands encasing Link’s, her fingernails sharp. Rhett watches the two of them with detached nonchalance and Link follows him with his eyes as he paces the driveway, shoes kicking up gravel. “Link, do they know?”

“No,” Link replies. 

“Oh, Link,” Jessie says, anguished. And she has every intention of giving Link the world that rightfully belongs to her. Rhett has no idea, none at all, that Jessie is going to give him up. Christy is the first to pull the trigger but the rest of them will follow, two families falling to pieces so Rhett and Link can claim what never was theirs. What kind of people does that make them? 

 

Link gathers his children, all three of them reluctant to go home, sure coming apart will mean coming apart for good. 

“Daddy, I wanna stay here,” Lando says, clinging to Shepherd despite the both of them being too old to cling like this.

“We’ll be back, Lando,” he tries to assure him, his heart aching for the petrified look on his youngest son’s little face. “I promise.” Jessie says they can stay as long as they want and she offers him an out, a way to keep his children out of this mess until Christy can calm down, but Link doesn’t accept it. He knows his wife. She told him to have the kids home and he has no choice. His only hope of keeping any of them together is to listen to his wife and do as she asks. 

Rhett follows close behind Link as he loads his kids in Rhett’s car, borrowing it to head towards home. Lily squeezes Jessie so tight she squawks before hopping into the passenger seat of the car and Link’s stomach lurches. He kept them apart too long and it’s his fault, the multitude of broken hearts, and he is going to be responsible for so much more. 

“Did she hurt you?” Link asks Jessie, giving her a once over with his hands on her shoulders as she laughs. 

“No, no,” Jessie says, waving off Link’s concern. “I’ve missed her, Link. I’ve missed all of you.” She tosses a furtive look over her shoulder to check on Rhett, who leans into the car through Lily’s open window to gab with her as they wait for Link. When she looks back to him she speaks like she has this moment to spill it all and this moment only. “Link, I need to tell you this right now before I lose my nerve.” She looks at the car, at Rhett again, at Link, and away. There’s space between them, space in which to speak and not be overheard, and Jessie tilts her chin towards the crystal clear sky to speak to it instead of Link. “Whatever happens, whatever you choose, I need you to not hurt him. Please, for the love of God, if you can give me anything, give me this. He’s been through hell this year for you, Link. He could have died for missing you. And if he gives himself to you…if he chooses to give everything to you and you hurt him…there is nothing anyone can do to protect you from me.” She speaks fast, voice low, absolutely sure, Link frozen under the deluge of every word she says. “So help me God, Link, if you break his heart any more than you already have I can promise you won’t live to see forty. Do you hear me?” The authority in her voice is enough to tell Link she speaks the truth. Nearly two decades of knowing her like he does only makes him sure. 

“I hear you,” he says. He’s too shell-shocked to say anything else, to tell her something good like he can’t take what she offers. Like he can’t let himself take Rhett from her. 

“Good,” she says, fierce, the same woman Link has known and loved since she was a kid. Hell, the woman he has known since they were all kids, barely old enough to make their own decisions and their own terrible mistakes. “I love you,” she says, a long line of many, one more person who passes things like love into Link’s hands. “Please, God, Link, just give him everything he gives to you.” There’s no hesitance in her voice, no regret, no sign she wants anything less than everything for Link. He wants to hold her until the certainty in her voice goes away; he wants to hold her until she comes to her senses and takes everything away. Even so, shaken and sore, Link knows he ought to thank her. He just can’t make the words come out. Rhett ends his conversation with Lily by telling her he’ll see her soon; there’s no way her daddy can keep Rhett from annoying the hell out of her anymore. Jessie takes a step away from Link and looks down at her hands as Rhett makes his way back to them, his head down to lessen the space between them. 

“G’bye, stranger,” Jessie says to Link, and just like that she’s gone. She waves the kids off and she goes inside without looking back. Link will never be able to thank her in every way he should. He watches her walk away like he watched his wife. Just like his wife, he owes her a lot more than he can ever hope to give. Rhett’s hand on Link’s arm brings him back to himself as they stand off to the side besides Rhett's car. 

“Link,” Rhett says, and Link lifts his eyes to meet Rhett’s gaze. Link is startled to find Rhett’s eyes wide with panic, mouth tight as the fingers he digs into Link’s arm. 

“Please come back to me,” Rhett says, stark terror in his eyes. “Don’t disappear again. I wouldn’t survive it.” He’s scared, scared out of his mind this will be the last time Link stands before him. Link knows the fear well. Every moment is a moment spent waiting for Rhett to vanish, for all of this to go away, to lose it all. He glances at the car, at his kids waiting for him, and he looks back up at Rhett. At his boy, at the man who waits for Link to choose him. The man who gave Link everything and waits with awe in every motion to give him more. 

“Rhett,” Link says, intent on assuring Rhett there’s no way in hell, no way at all, and Lily leans across the car to press at the horn. 

“Daddy, it’s _hot_ in here!” she howls to be heard through the open window, Link jumping out of his skin. 

“I’m coming!” he shouts back at her. He doesn’t look at her as he says it. To Rhett he says, “I’m coming back to you. I can promise you that.” He can promise as much if nothing else; he is never going to leave Rhett waiting for him again. Rhett looks less than convinced and less than ready to let Link go, his hand slipping down Link’s arm to meet his fingers. “The kids,” Link says, simple, and Rhett’s hand disappears. Quiet, Link surges up on his toes to whisper, “I love you so, so much. Rhett, God, I love you. Don’t think for a second…please don’t think that I won’t…that I’m not…” He means to say something ludicrous, something stupid like _I’m hopeless for you_ , but he stammers himself into silence to find Rhett waiting for him to speak. He tries again. 

“If it’s the last thing I do, I’m gonna do right by you.” The admission does nothing to ease to tension from the crease between Rhett’s eyebrows. “Okay?” 

“Okay, Link,” Rhett breathes. And then, heedless, “I wish you didn’t have to leave.” Link is selfish and terrible and he tells Rhett more than anything he feels the same. 

“Daddy!!” a chorus of three little voices cry from the car, the kids working in unison to get Link to go to them. Link babbles as he backs from Rhett, speaking stupid, useless sweet nothings until he gets within earshot of his rowdy, restless children. 

“I love you,” he says. “I love you. You’re beautiful; I love you. You’re everything, Rhett. I love you.” Rhett watches him walk away until his ass hits the car and he gets inside, reluctant, cursing himself for his desire to leave his children and go flying back into Rhett’s waiting arms. He’s a father above all else; before he is _honey_ he is _Dad_. He has to pull himself together for the drive home if nothing else; he can’t let the kids know every horrible thing that is about to come their way. He can give them peace for now. He can give them kindness and love and safety for the moment before it all gets taken away. 

“I’m sorry,” he says to Lily as she sits with her arms crossed, feet propped on the dashboard despite being told a thousand times how dangerous it is. She shrugs and her petulance is nothing new but it’s too much for Link. He reaches out and knocks her shoes from the dash, her feet hitting the floor with a thump, and she swats him on the arm with a high pitched cry of protest. 

“Let’s just go home,” she says, Rhett standing still in his driveway with his eyes on Link. Rhett’s gaze makes him dizzy, clumsy, and he fumbles with the gearshift before he manages to get the car to go in reverse. As he backs down the driveway in the unfamiliar car Lily goes on, voice marred by clumsily concealed anger. “Might as well get there quick so you can give us the news.”

“What news?” Link asks, but his heart sinks as she glares across the car at him. 

“You and Mom,” she says. 

“What about us, Lil?” He pulls the car out onto the busy street, intent on keeping his hands and his voice from quaking as he drives. It’s an impossible task. 

“You’re gettin’ a divorce,” she says. It’s not hard to see she’s fighting to keep the same composure Link desperately seeks. “We’re not stupid, Dad. Not as stupid as you for lettin’ it happen, anyway.” She sinks into her seat, the boys silent in the back, the news not so much news to them, either. Link has no idea what to say. His hopes for protecting his kids go out the window; they see more than he thought they do. Heart in his throat, Link sighs. 

“What did you do, Dad?” Lincoln asks, timid, and Link can’t say a word. There’s nothing he can say to make this right. There’s nothing he can do to make it okay, the knowledge that makes Lily’s shoulders shake with silent tears. His daughter cries in the passenger seat of his best friend’s car and there is nothing he can do. There is nothing he can say. 

For the first time the consequences of all the wrong he’s done go from hanging over his head to falling down on top of him. And all he can do is wait for it to crush him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ♫ohhh we're halfway there, ohhhHHH we'll make it i swear♫
> 
> Dragging this out is not my intention but as it turns out, everyone has a lot more to say than I expected when I started. Thank you, thank you for the love and support thus far; I hope you stick around :)


	11. Watch Me as I Stall

It is not a gradual thing, the end of everything. It is simple: they were fine and now they aren’t. Christy comes home and she grants Link one thing; she will not tell their children the reason why their marriage fell apart. He’s grateful to the point of weakness, quaking as his wife stands before him with empty, frigid eyes. 

“It’s on you to tell them what you want,” she says, drawing away from his attempts to reach for her. “If he’s what you go after they’re going to find out sooner or later. I won’t tell them. But you can’t pretend forever. They’re not babies, Link. They know.” 

“I know that,” he says. He knows as well as she does that his children aren’t stupid. Link can’t end his marriage, break apart his family, and hope his kids never find out what he did to cause it to happen this way. Christy is right; they will find out sooner or later. But right now Link feels sick as he sits in the poorly ventilated office of a lawyer hired by his wife. She sits across a pristine mahogany table from Link, at the side of her divorce attorney. For his part he has done nothing to Link just yet; he writes in a legal pad with his head down as he finishes the first round of preliminary paperwork. He marks with a yellow highlighter all the places in which Link will have to sign, Christy sitting beside him with her eyes far away. She looks beautiful, stunning, two barrettes crisscrossed like an X holding her hair back from her face on one side. But she looks tired, eyes red, and she sniffles like Link isn’t sitting right here. Like he can’t hear her. 

No amount of time could have readied Link for round one of many but the days he spent at home were not nearly long enough. Link kept the kids in the dark as much as he could, all three of them feeling petulant and scared in the wake of learning the truth. Lily hardly came out of her room until her mother came home, throwing herself into Christy’s arms the moment she stepped through the door. Link stood behind her and waited for his wife’s eyes to drift up to him. And they didn’t. They didn’t and they didn’t and Link slept in the living room, waking up to his kids taking turns sitting in there with him. Lando came first, toting his blanket, and he shoved Link against the back of the couch to share it with him. Lincoln and Lily came together the second night, squashing into the loveseat opposite the sofa to share the space with Link. 

“Dad, I don’t want you to leave,” Lily said, and Link held it together, assuring her he was never going anywhere, not so far he could not reach her, but the moment she and Lincoln drifted off to sleep Link dragged a pillow over his face and cried. Lincoln slept through it but Lily did not. Link didn’t hear her get up but there she was, kneeling by the sofa by Link’s head where he lay, and wordlessly she tugged the pillow away from him. She only spoke when he looked at her, putting on the phony, watery _I wasn’t just crying_ smile, and she frowned. 

“Daddy, I _really_ don’t want you to leave,” she said, and she had not called him that in years. The shimmy in her little voice made it worse, the pounding between his eyes. How pathetic he was, his daughter left to comfort him as he cried, but Lily bore it well. She knelt by the sofa, her hand on Link’s shoulder, and she picked up his hand for him and placed it on her head. She hated getting her hair stroked, always squirming away and telling Link she was a human and was not to be petted, but she placed Link’s hand into her hair and she waited. 

“Oh, Lil,” he said, and she smiled, wan, as Link brushed back her hair, so much like her mother’s. 

“Daddy, what happened?” Lily asked, but God, Link couldn’t tell her. He couldn’t. Instead he kissed her and told her he was sorry. She refused to accept his apology but Link never expected her to. He faced enough betrayal from his own father to know how Lily felt. 

Sitting across from his wife Link can hardly fathom he let himself end up so close in survival skills to his father: when things get tough, run away. Hit the road. Link did it to Rhett and now his wife forces his hand, forcing him to turn the other way when he wants desperately to stay. 

The lawyer at Christy’s side says something about the kids, about custody, and Link’s stomach turns. Sure, everything that belongs to Link belongs to Christy, too. Sure, he can give her the house and the car and all the money she wants; sure, he can let her keep their home and their coffeemaker and their wedding photos and everything in between. But the kids are something Link will do anything to keep. He tells the lawyer as much and sympathetic, he smiles. He tells Link and he tells Christy: fifty-fifty custody is typical. It’s sticky, he tells them, and he is sorry, he tells them, but as soon as they reach an agreement they can draft up the papers. Christy looks at Link for the first time since they sat down. 

“We will talk,” she says. Her voice is devoid of anything, be it love or mercy, and Link’s stomach twists up as she speaks. Christy asks, eyes on Link, “Can we talk alone?” The lawyer uses that word again, typical, as he explains it is his job to sit in and mediate, but Christy asks him again. “Please,” she adds at the end, and her eyes could burn a hole in Link as her lawyer gathers up his things to give them fifteen minutes of privacy. Christy follows him with her eyes as he leaves, her delicate hands laced together on top of the table between her and Link. He has never felt so much space between them. 

“Christy,” he says, and she shakes her head. She cuts him off. 

“Don’t, Link,” she replies. “I don’t want to hear you beg me. I don’t wanna _hear_ it.”

“What do you wanna hear, then?” 

“I don’t want you to say anything,” she tells him, untangling her hands to tap her pink painted fingernails on the table. It’s a color she wears often, a color Link has painted on their daughter, and he swallows a hot lump rising in his throat. 

“Okay,” he says anyway. He waits for her to be the one to speak. It takes her a while, a long minute she spends opening her mouth and closing it again, and as she looks down at the table her hair falls over her face. Link wants terribly to push it back, to bury his nose in the space behind her ear to breathe her in. He wants to kiss her, to remind her everything they have shared. But she doesn’t give him the chance. She doesn’t give him anything. 

In the end her pretty lips part and she says, “So help me God, Link, I hate you. You’re my _husband_ and you’re the love of my life and I _hate_ you for what you’ve done to me.” 

“Chris…” 

“Don’t. Link, how _could_ you?” Link pauses. He sits on his hands, feeling sick and twisted up under Christy’s gaze, and he loves her. He loves her, the girl who gave him everything, and she looks at him like she wishes she could strike him down. “Go on, then. Tell me. How could you, Link? How could you come home to me every night, faking and lying and _kissing_ me, pretending you weren’t just…you weren’t just…” Words fail her, her chest heaving as she tries to stay put together. Her hands splay out across the table and Link wants to hold them. 

“Christy, I love hi-“

“Don’t!” she howls, smacking her hands down on the table with all her might. It rattles beneath her, as powerless in her wake as Link. “Don’t say anything! I just can’t believe you had it in you to lie to me for so long. I can’t _believe_ you had no trouble at all with comin’ home to me…to the kids…having just come back from…oh, God, Link.” She drops her chin to her chest but Link catches it; her chin quivers as she begins to cry. And he can’t take it, he can’t, and he’s selfish and fucked up and he lets it happen. He doesn’t try to comfort her. What comfort can he offer? Everything plaguing her was done by his hands. “You’re taking everything from me,” she chokes out, shaking her head. Link watches a teardrop splash onto the mahogany and this he reaches for, wiping it away with one finger. Christy barks out a sob once the tear is gone. “All the time I’ve spent cryin’ over you,” she says, gasping for air, drowning, “and it was all for nothin’. I can’t believe I let myself think you’d come back to me. Guess what, Link? Congratulations. You won. You can have him. But y’know what else? I can’t let you have everything, Link. I can’t and I won’t. You can keep him. You can _marry_ him for all I care.” She babbles, rendered nearly incomprehensible by the tears that pitter patter onto the table, and Link chases each and every one. He wipes them away first with his fingertips and then with his sleeve, mopping them up in an effort to forget they are there on his wife’s face. 

“But?” Link asks her. 

“Yeah,” she agrees. “But.” She pauses, sniffling, running one sleeve under her streaming nose. Link peers at her to find her red-eyed, red spots high on her cheeks, nose crinkling up as she fights to stop crying. “But you are not going to take anything else from me. You can’t have him and us. I won’t let you. If you want him, go with him. But the kids? The kids are _mine_.” Final. Done. “They’re mine, Link, and hell if I’m gonna let you walk away from this in one goddamn piece.” She takes in a breath to go on, to scream, to swear, but Link flares up, hands flying to the table to smack down before his wife’s. She starts in her seat as he does it. 

“Do you really think I want this, Christy?” he asks, his wife’s eyes on his hands. On his wedding band. “God, d’you really think I want you to leave me? There’s no staying in one piece for me, Christy. You can’t sit there and tell me you think this is easy for me!”

“Oh, I can’t?” she shouts. “I can’t?! You’ve been miserable all year, going through the motions like you’re on freakin’ _autopilot_! Like you’re not even alive! And the second, and I mean the second he has his hands back on you you’re so happy you can’t keep the smile off your face! What was your plan, Link? I want to know what your plan was. Were you going to keep it from me forever? Were you gonna hide and sneak and lie until the day you died?” She echoes the same thing Rhett said to him last year, the same fear lighting up her eyes. The same panic shakes up her voice. The same tremor makes her hands quake on the table and Link wants to reach for them, squeezing her fingers until the tears slow down and stop. 

“I don’t know,” Link admits, because there never was a plan. There never were any big ideas, any solutions, any way to right their wrongs. They were just two bodies drawn together like magnets, two people who loved each other in all the wrong ways and in all the wrong times. Link never knew what hit him until it crashed over him. How can he ever explain that to the person he was supposed to be with for the rest of his life? There is no explaining all the terrible things he did and said and felt to get here. There is no making it right. Maybe it’s time to stop trying. 

“You don’t know,” Christy says, cold. “Great. You don’t know.” She leans back in her chair, arms crossing over her chest like she wants desperately to protect herself. Link stays where he is. “You can go straight to Hell, Link,” she says, and his heart plummets. “But maybe I’ll see you there. Because God, what does it make me if I can’t stop loving you?” She shakes her head, lip trembling, her eyelashes glistening with tears, when Link reaches for her. “What the hell does that make me, Link, if I’m gonna keep on lovin’ you the rest of my life? It sure as hell can’t be anything good.” She shakes her head again, lip jutting out, and Link reaches for her. Over and over he makes the same mistakes, trying to touch her hands, her face, her mouth, and she pulls away. Link rises from his seat, leaning hard over the table between them, desperate to wipe away her tears if nothing else. She didn’t cry when they got married and she didn’t cry when they had their first big fight. She didn’t cry when their first baby was born, or the next, or the next. She didn’t cry when they moved away from their home in North Carolina and she didn’t cry when they moved across town, leaving Rhett behind. 

She makes up for it now and Link could die for wanting to make it stop. 

He didn’t want this, the hurt in his wife’s face, and he didn’t want this, the strange way her shoulders bounce as she hiccups, trying her best to recover from her tears. He just wanted to love too many people in too many ways at the same time. Does that really condemn him to Hell? 

He tries to speak but the lawyer returns and he loses his chance. Preliminary papers are signed, Link’s hand shaking so hard his signature may have well been penned by one of his kids. Christy has no such trouble. Her pen dashes across page after page, her mouth set in a hard line. Link envies Christy for her confidence. She is sure. Link tries to make himself so as he chases her signature with his own on dotted lines. 

They are fine. And then they aren’t. 

 

Christy and Link fight in Christy’s bedroom, the room that is no longer half Link’s, and never has Link seen someone so fearless as her as she screams. She has no worry in her voice, no more sadness, and all she is left with is fury. She is furious at him, slinging words and everything her fragile hands touch. She throws a framed picture at Link’s head, one taken on their wedding day, and he dodges it to watch it smash against the bedroom wall and hit the floor. The sound of glass breaking does nothing to deter Christy. She reaches for the next thing on her dresser, a bottle of perfume she kept on display only to wear when Link was away. 

“Christy, don’t!” he shouts, but the little pink bottle is the next thing to hit the wall behind Link’s head. It puts a dent in the drywall, not quite a hole, and as it breaks the smell of something thick and flowery and heady hits Link full in the face. It’s better than a fist, he supposes, and perfume drips silently down the wall behind him to land formless on the carpet. The kids are in the backyard playing but Link can’t hear them like he heard them a minute ago; he imagines them with their ears pressed to the wall from the outside to listen in. He hates the way Christy’s chest heaves as she looks at him, like she wants nothing more than to hit him. He does not tell her so. 

“Stop throwing things!” he cries as she picks up a framed picture of the kids, a picture three or four years old at least, the three of them so small. Link remembers the day they took the pictures like it was yesterday; not one of them wanted anything to do with the photoshoot and one by one they grew restless and irritated and irritating. Link fought them for an hour to get them to stand still and act like they liked each other even for a minute. Lincoln pulled a fistful of Lily’s hair and Link could have cried with frustration. But Christy was there and Christy smoothed it over, promising ice cream in return for smiles, and she always knew what to do. She always did. But now she has the picture in her hands, looking down at it instead of throwing it, and Link watches from the doorway of the bedroom as she sinks with her head bowed to the bed. Against his better judgement and sense of self-preservation he goes to her. He kneels by the bed, hands on her thighs, searching her face as she traces careful fingers over the picture in her hands. 

“I dunno how you have it in you,” she says, dancing her fingertips along the smiling faces of their children, “to leave them behind. I never woulda thought this is how we’d end up. If I had known…”

Link does not allow her the moment of wishing none of the things they built together were real. “Cut it out,” he says, digging his fingers into her thighs through her jeans. “You wouldn’t do anything different. Not if the result was you losin’ them.”

“Maybe not,” she says, contemplative, Link’s nose burning and eyes streaming in the aftermath of her smashed perfume bottle. And then, “Link, I don’t think I’ll ever forgive you.”

“That’s okay,” he tells her with nothing else to say. He can give her as much. She can hate him all she wants; she can tell him so and she can take back every good and sweet thing she ever said to him. Sure, he can give her that. He has to give her something. 

 

“He was unfaithful,” Christy says before her lawyer, the two of them sitting shoulder to shoulder across the same mahogany table from Link. “He was unfaithful and I want to know what that does for me in terms of custody.” The dominos composing Link’s life continue to fall as he sits, eyes on his hands laced up on the table. They fall one by one and then they fall in waves, knocking down everything in their wake. Link can’t breathe in here. His T-shirt threatens to strangle him despite how hard he pulls at the collar or how far he stretches it. The air is as unforgiving as Christy as she readies herself to take everything she can. 

Link goes numb as the lawyer explains to Christy the likelihood of Link’s infidelity affecting his rights to his children. He expected her to fight him but not like this, trying with all her might to take the kids from him to combat everything he has done. His ears ring and his tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth as the lawyer lays it down. Infidelity does not typically affect custody, he says, and Link feels like crying in relief. For her part Christy looks murderous as she watches him fight back a sob barked in utter joy. If she could kill him with her eyes she would, staring at him from across the table. And she has sat across so many tables from him in so many places, across the country, there and back again. She has followed him and loved him and this is what she gets: unless her children bore witness to the infidelity or if Link did something terrible like drain three college funds to chase his lover, there is nothing her lawyer can do. 

“Great,” she says, petulant as the child she was when she threw a phone straight at Link in the first year of their marriage. “In that case- write this down.” She snaps, eyes on Link, nothing at all like the girl he loves except in the way of the anger she’s bitten down for years. “I want full custody,” she says. “I don’t want him to be able to breathe in the same _town_ as them. Forget seeing them. So help me God, they are _mine_.” She pounds at the table with one fist at the last word, Link jumping in his seat at the impact. How her little, dainty hands can make so much noise when she wants them to…Link tries to say something but comes up empty. They are his; they belong to him as much as they do to Christy, but she is a hurricane. She is a tsunami. He is going to buckle and break beneath her; he is never going to win. He unsticks his throat to beg, to cry, and what comes out is something terrible and meek.

“Christy…you can’t,” he says, and immediately she shakes her head. 

“You should have thought long and hard about what your family means to you before you ruined everything,” she says, impossibly cold. There is nothing warm about her, least of all her eyes, as they bore a hole in Link. “Before you chose wrong.” Before he chose wrong. Before he chose Rhett. And if this is it, if Rhett is what Link wants for the rest of his life, is it really something wrong? He can’t remember the last time he was sure. He thought he was, at the beach, Rhett sitting in his car as they caught up after a year spent choosing wrong again and again. He thought he was, Rhett’s big hands on his body as they snuck away. But he wasn’t sure. He wasn’t then and he is not now; how can Christy look at him and the life they have and tell him she is sure? 

“Christy,” he says, fear making him shake. “Christy, you can’t take them away from me.” He repeats himself, stammering, the lawyer no longer sympathetic as he sits impartial with his hands folded up neatly. Link wants to hit him, to make him bleed, to do _something_ to feel anything but scared. She loves him, she said so herself, but she is going to take his kids from him and she is going to do it with complete surety. She knows she is right and what can Link do in the wake of his wife’s mind made up? He has never been a match for her. 

“Watch me,” she says, and even in her petulance she drives ice through Link’s heart. 

“Christy,” he says again, and that is all. 

 

Link chases his wife out of the lawyer’s office, the two of them having taken separate cars to make their meeting, Link coming from a day he spent alone. The sky is overcast, dull, giving the parking lot an eerie shade of gray. Link calls her name, her back to him, her shoulders squared. She refuses to look back until she reaches her car and he has her trapped. He places one hand on the car, leaning close to his wife, Christy half in the car and half out. She squares off to him, not one to ever back down, and up close she smells like the godawful perfume she smashed in their bedroom. 

“What are you doing?” he asks her, Christy looking small but irate as he holds her backed into the car. “Christy, what the hell are you _doing_?”

“Don’t talk to me like that, Link,” she says, his heart in his throat, his chest on fire. He’s going to cry and it’s not going to make anything better; Christy accepts tearful sweet nothings from no one. Not from the kids, not from Link, not from anyone who ever wronged her and lived to try to make it right. “You have no right to talk to me at all. Don’t even look at me.”

“I won’t let you keep the kids from me,” he says, more scared than he has ever been in his life. “What I did has nothing to do with them, Christy. Nothing at all. You can’t take them. I won’t let you.”

“Oh, you won’t let me!” she wails, hands in the air, despondent. “You won’t let me! Well that’s just great, Link! But guess what? You don’t get to tell me what I’m not allowed to do! _I_ won’t let _you_ take my entire life from me and walk away with a shiny new one of your own! It isn’t fair! I won’t let you take my family away and get away with it! I’m tellin’ you right now, Link, you are _not_ the man I married and you are _not_ the father of my children. I don’t know where the hell he is but you’re not him. And I won’t let the man who replaced him stick around, you can count on that. Do you hear me? Am I getting through to you at all? You look a little perplexed, Link. Let me make it clear.” She has her hands balled into fists and she’s on her toes to get as close to Link’s face as she can. For her part, the woman he loves is just as far gone. 

“The love of my life is choosing someone else,” Christy says, and her hands uncurl. “How am I supposed to move on from that, Link? Tell me if you have any ideas, for the love of God. Because I sure as hell dunno what I’m going to do. But one thing’s for sure. I’m not gonna give you the goddamn world anymore, Link. You have to choose. The kids…or him. It’s that simple.” She drops to her heels and she’s so small, his wife is, and he loves her enough to let it kill him. It’s that simple. 

“You can’t,” he tells her, voice weak. Her face twists up like she expected something different, a different solution, and she tells Link to leave her alone. She tries to get into the car but he stops her, slipping one hand between the door and its frame. “Wait,” he says, and she does. “If I…are you telling me you’re going to fight to keep me from the kids…unless I…” Nothing he could say sounds right to him: break it off, break up, leave. He flounders, Christy stoic, and she nods. 

“I know you love them,” she says, “and they love you. You don’t understand, Link. I wasn’t made to handle this. I can’t let you continue to raise them as if you’re not…as if you didn’t…” 

“You don’t wanna tell them their dad is goin’ to Hell, Christy,” Link says, anger bubbling up hot in his throat, “do you?” Christy shuts her mouth and looks up at him, mirroring his anger and doubling it back on him. She tries to say something and fails just as badly as Link. In the end she sets her jaw hard and denies him an answer. 

“Don’t come home tonight,” she tells him. And then, steeling herself, “Don’t you dare. It’s not yours anymore. I don’t care what some goddamn papers say. It might be your name all over everything, Link, but it’ll be a cold day in Hell before I give it all up to you.” Christy gets in her car, slamming the door so fast it catches Link by the calf on its way shut. Scraped up and bruised, Link hobbles to his own car and slams his own door so hard the sound makes his ears ring. He sits in perfect stillness for a moment and then he punches at the steering wheel, the horn squawking indignantly under his hands. 

“Shit!” he cries. “Shit!” He smacks at the steering wheel, tears in his eyes, until his fists begin to ache and his fingers go numb. Once he has gotten all he can from punching at his car in the parking lot of some lousy lawyer’s office he drops his head to the steering wheel and cries. It’s an ugly picture, a grown man crying by himself under the hot Los Angeles sun, but Link’s twisted up insides are nothing if not just as ugly. It’s not until his phone rings that he draws himself a little closer to something nearing composure. Rhett’s name is on the screen and Link’s hands shake so hard he almost misses the call. When he answers it Rhett is there, safe and warm and something good, and Link cries into the phone and waits for Rhett to save him. 

“It didn’t go well,” Rhett says, “did it?” 

“No,” Link barks, leaning on the hot window of his car with his eyes shut tight. “No, no, it didn’t.” 

“Come to me, baby,” Rhett says, beautiful, benign. And Link goes. 

 

Link makes the drive to Rhett’s house but can’t make himself stay there. Rhett meets him outside and they drive, no destination in mind, Link’s head fogged with tears and other stupid, useless things. The last place he should be is at Rhett’s side. His wife gave him an ultimatum: him or the kids. And Link can’t risk losing them, can’t risk his wife taking them away, and yet…here he is. Rhett has one hand draped over the nape of Link’s neck, his fingers tracing lazy circles on Link’s skin. It makes him shiver and give, wriggling away from the touch, but Rhett laughs and keeps tickling. He’s solid, he’s sweet, and he belongs to Link. 

It isn’t fair that this is not the end. 

Tomorrow Rhett turns forty and they are no closer to finding out who they are than they were when they were twenty. When they were ten, when they shared every birthday in between. Link has no plans but he hopes Rhett does; he wants to spend the day with Rhett at his side, giving him everything he asks for and more, but he gets the feeling something so frivolous is not in the cards for them. Maybe next year, maybe for Rhett’s forty first, maybe when they are older they will be better. But for now Link drives, paying more attention to Rhett’s hand than the road, but he drives just the same. Rhett hums at his side along with the radio, the song one Link doesn’t know well. The sound of Rhett’s voice lulls him more than he should allow; he has to tell Rhett the terrible things that change everything. Rhett thinks about it. Link can see it all over his face, Rhett’s lip caught between his teeth. Even so it takes him a long, long time to ask.

“What’s the bad news, Link?” he asks, so timid Link could cry all over again. Timidity is a terrible look on Rhett; he was not made to look so small as he does sitting in Link’s passenger seat. 

“Christy wants full custody,” Link replies, wishing the road would open up and swallow them whole. When it doesn’t, the light they pull up to turning green, he goes on. “But she told me if I stop…if I don’t…if you and I…” He pauses. Takes in a deep breath. Tries again. “If you and me stop doing…this. If we stop. Then she won’t fight me anymore. So. There’s that.” He tries to inject as much finality into his voice as Christy did. Over. Done. Finished. But on him it sounds flat. 

“Oh,” Rhett says, fingers feather light on Link’s neck. “And what does that mean for us, then?” He asks like it does not affect him, like he is away from it, but Link knows him better. Pain tightens up the corners of his eyes and he can’t fool Link. Not about this. 

“They’re my kids, Rhett,” Link replies. Over. Done. Finished. But he lacks conviction, Link does, and Rhett massages at the back of his neck like he doesn’t realize he does it. 

“I know,” Rhett says. 

“You can’t make me choose between you and my kids.”

“I know.” Rhett’s fingers dig into the back of Link’s head like he wants to draw out every awful thought that plagues him. Hell, maybe he does. Link would be grateful for the chance to throw everything in his racing mind to the wind. But it doesn’t come. “I wouldn’t,” Rhett says. “Not ever. I toldja that, didn’t I? I wouldn’t get between you and your family? So I won’t. Don’t…don’t worry about that.” Rhett coughs and he is not fooling anyone, least of all himself. He coughs and his fingers begin to hurt Link, nails pressing marks into his skin. 

“Rhett…” Link says. 

“No, Link, hey, I told you I would be there for you no matter what and…” Rhett coughs again, falters, stops. Link glances at him and Rhett sniffles, brow furrowing, and he tells Link to keep his eyes on the road. “I’m not dyin’ before I turn forty, man,” he says, “especially not by your hand. Stop lookin’ at me and watch where you’re goin’.” 

Link knows a loss of composure when he sees one. He is the master of doing so, after all, losing it again and again. Without another word Link eases the car off the highway, looking for a place to rest. Rhett sits silent at his side save for soft sniffles and careful, measured breaths. Link looks at him for a moment too long and glides through a red light, getting honked at but neatly avoiding the crossing car. Rhett, for once, makes no move to laugh at Link or scold him or to even tell him he needs to get his license revoked. The lack of anything from Rhett’s side of the car has Link’s heart scattering, screaming, stuttering in his chest. He passes through streetlights and by endless, countless people, and Link only inhales when Rhett breathes out. He waits for Rhett to inhale before releasing his own lungful of air, the two of them in perfect rhythm. 

“Rhett, I love you,” Link says. Rhett nods. 

“I know.” His eyes are wet and Link is going to lose it; he is going to lose everything. 

“Rhett, don’t…”

“’M okay,” he says. “Link, I’m okay.” He sniffs hard, nose red, and Link needs to hold him. Link needs to be held. Blessedly, finally he pulls into a park and ride, Rhett’s chest heaving and fingers curling and uncurling in Link’s hair. 

“Rhett,” Link says, if only to say it, and Rhett slumps forward in his seat as Link cuts the engine. 

“Don’t,” Rhett says, just like Christy, always reminding Link of the things he should not do. Link twists in his seat, heart betraying him, hands flying to Rhett’s face. His eyes are red and Link caused it. One tear and then another fall, chasing one another down the slope of Rhett’s cheek, and Link is going to die. He is going to die, his hands cupping Rhett’s wet cheeks, because if Rhett is crying it has to be the end of the world. 

“Rhett, sweetheart, please,” Link says. It’s stifling in the car, the air pressing in on him, his ears ringing as Rhett refuses to meet his eyes. Link tries to turn his cheek, tries to get Rhett to look at him, for Christ’s sake, but Rhett digs his fingers in deep into the top notch of Link’s spine and the pain distracts him. “Ow, Rhett…” 

Link watches a tear slide down Rhett’s nose and hang there for a moment, Rhett shuddering under Link’s hands, and then it falls. It lands on the faded knee of his jeans and soaks in, chased by another, and another. He makes no sound as he cries, far and away from the way Link does it, like he’s being torn apart from the inside out. The silence horrifies him. He wants Rhett to scream. He wants Rhett to hit him. More than anything he just wants Rhett to say something, anything at all, to assure Link he is alive. 

“I love you, I love you,” Link tells him. Like it fixes a goddamn thing. If loving him was enough they would be far from here by now; they would have a life to be proud of that they built together. If loving him was enough to make everything else go away they would be better. They would be all right. But they’re here, under the brutal heat of the California sun, and they are here, hands on one another, clinging, scared. 

“That’s okay,” Rhett says, whispering, rubbing idly at his eyes with the back of the hand not clutching tight to Link. He has a handful of Link’s T-shirt in his fist and it nearly chokes him, the grip Rhett has on him. He doesn’t ask him to let go. Instead he says Rhett’s name, again and again, and he pulls Rhett as close as their seatbelts will allow. 

“Oh, Rhett, I’m so sorry,” Link says. Like it changes a goddamn thing. Rhett buries his face in Link’s throat, tears wetting Link’s skin, wrapping one arm around him and holding on for dear life. Jessie’s threat echoes in Link’s head- _so help me God, Link, if you break his heart any more than you already have…_ \- and Link can’t say a thing to make this better. He’s done it. Rhett is crying and trying not to, shivering in Link’s arms. Link has hurt him and hurt him and he’s done it again, doing it without even trying, breaking and breaking every part of Rhett he touches. “Rhett, I love you, I…”

“It’s _okay_ ,” Rhett breathes into his skin, lips hot at the side of Link’s throat. But it’s not, not yet, because the next thing out of Rhett’s mouth breaks the promise he made to Link to save it for the end. “I love you, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, thank you for reading/commenting/everything. as always, come talk to me at reedytenors on tumblr. and as always, i'm sorry. (things will look up soon.)
> 
> ALSO i have been especially bad with typos and missed words lately, as i do all the editing myself, so don't be afraid to call me out for them. :P


	12. I'd Give You Anything but You Want Pain

If the timing was right and this was the end Rhett’s words would have Link crying in elation. But it’s not and it’s not and instead his quiet admission feels like a riotous goodbye. Link wants to plead, to take Rhett’s face in his hands and kiss away each and every tear rolling down his cheeks. But Rhett’s pain has him paralyzed, unable to move, unable to help. He sits still and watches the man he loves cry. Since the beginning, since they were _children_ , Rhett has been the one to lend comfort. He has been the one to soothe, to ease, to chase away the weight of the world with a graze of his fingertips. Link has no idea what to do now the roles are reversed. He does what Rhett does when Link is the one to fall apart; he reaches out. He forces his hand to move and it lands heavy on Rhett’s shoulder, jostling him in the passenger seat of Link’s car. For his part Rhett makes no move at all. 

“Rhett,” Link says, almost making it a question and thinking better of it. The dam broken, the first to speak, Link spills forth, word after meaningless word. “Please, God, don’t say that. Please don’t. It’s not…you’re not…we’re not…” Link’s tongue gets tangled up in the same things it always does: _we_ , _us_ , _please for the love of God do not_. Rhett shakes his head. 

“I do love you, though,” he says, voice thick, and Link hates it. Rhett was not made to cry; it looks like hell on him, the tears collecting in his beard and the collar of his shirt. Link lifts his hand and uses one knuckle to brush some of them away, catching tears one by one. “Might as well say it.”

“You said you wouldn’t,” Link reminds him, hand as steady as he can make it, fingers as sure. Rhett sniffles and nods.

“I know,” he says. “I know. But I love you, Link, and I don’t wanna force myself not to say it back anymore. I wanted to say it in the coffee shop the first day you called me back to you. D’you know how hard it was not to say it back when you were sittin’ there telling me you loved me for the first time?” Link catches a tear with the pad of his thumb and cups Rhett’s cheek, trying with all his might to stem the flow. 

“It was selfish of me,” Link says, and Rhett raises an eyebrow. “To say it then, I mean. I’m sorry. I wasn’t…I wasn’t good to you, Rhett. You were…you were too good to me; you were the best. And I…I didn’t know how…” He stammers and Rhett is a statue, patient and still and carved of stone. Link would think him frozen if he could keep his lips from quivering as he tries to coax away his tears. “And I don’t think I can ever make that right.”

“No,” Rhett says. He comes back to life, dropping his eyes from Link’s to stare at the dashboard of his car. Link’s knees ache from the way he sits, cocked sideways behind the steering wheel to hold onto Rhett the best he can. But he stays still, frozen into inaction by the tears on Rhett’s face. “But listen,” he says, and Link does. “You can try.” He sniffs, wiping his nose with the back of his hand, and if they were all right Link would crack a joke and tell him how gross the motion is. But they aren’t and he doesn’t and he has no idea if they ever will be again. It’s his fault but Rhett quirks his lips up at Link, a watery smile at best but a smile just the same. His eyes are dull, rimmed in red and lifeless, and Link did that. Link caused the emptiness in Rhett’s stormy eyes and he might never be able to fix it. He might not be able to ever make it okay. But Rhett offers him an olive branch and Link takes it in both hands. 

“How?” he asks. Tears cling to Rhett’s eyelashes and Link pauses with his fingertips held carefully on the apple of Rhett’s cheek. After a moment in which Rhett watches him, motionless, Link lifts his fingers and asks Rhett to blink. When he does, closing his eyes for a breath and opening them again, the tears fall. Link catches them, one, two, three, and Rhett watches him as he wipes them on his jeans. 

“Just love me ‘till the end of time,” Rhett says. Without thinking, without pause, Link promises it to him. 

“Of course,” he says. Of course. Their lives were meant to be that way, after all, Link loving Rhett and Rhett loving Link until they can’t anymore. Until the ground swallows them up and they are no longer remembered; until the world ends and everything goes with it. Above all else, Link is sure of it. He fights back a feeling of dizzying smallness, of fragility, and Rhett helps keep it at bay. They might be small but at least Link is not alone. And he is going to be selfish for a while longer, Rhett turning his cheek into Link’s palm, and Link caresses his face with careful fingers. 

“I’m sorry,” Rhett breathes into the center of Link’s palm, breath washing across hot skin. 

“God, for what?” 

“For crying.” Rhett shrugs, reaching up to slip his hand over Link’s fingers on his face, and he does not meet Link’s gaze. “I just…” He steels himself, taking a deep breath that shudders in his chest, and never has he looked more breakable than he does under Link’s hand. “God, I’m an idiot. I thought, yanno, after all this time and all this…all this pain, that there was no way we wouldn’t…that we wouldn’t get…” He pauses. He mulls it over, Link’s heart racing, Link desperate for Rhett to stop. He doesn’t. “I just thought it was about time we got what we dreamed of,” he says. “It’s not…” Again he pauses, lip caught between his teeth, and so badly it aches Link wants to kiss him. But first he is going to let Rhett finish. “It’s not over, Link,” he says, raising his eyes, “is it?” 

Link swears the world stops turning.

“You don’t…you don’t want it to be over, do you?” he replies, his voice betraying the terror he feels at the thought. It can’t be over, not yet, not ever; Link is going to die if this is how it ends. 

“No,” Rhett says, and Link exhales. Rhett looks at him and the space between them is too much; Link grabs for the back of Rhett’s head and buries his fingers in his hair. Rhett relaxes into the touch, tensed up shoulders sloping downwards, eyes slipping closed. With tears drying on his cheeks he still looks almost at peace, soft in the lukewarm light of day. Link loves him enough to tear the world apart with it. He thinks he just might try. Anything to ease the pain in his best friend’s eyes. 

“No,” Link echoes, and again Rhett tells him no. 

“No, I don’t ever want this to be over,” he says. “But Link, I told you, I have no right to stand here between you and your kids…your kids, Link. You can’t tell me you wanna trade them for me. I won’t let you if you try.”

“You said you’d do it,” Link reminds him, “for me. You said that. Did you forget?” 

“No, I didn’t forget,” Rhett snaps, and Link digs his fingers deeper into the nape of Rhett’s neck, just like Rhett did to him as he spilled the truth. “I didn’t forget, Link. But it’s different for me. I’m not in the same spot as you. Jessie…she…”

“She told me she’s going to give you to me,” Link tells him, and Rhett stutters to a stop. “She’s letting you go. Givin’ you up. And if she can do that, if she can give up everything, why can’t I?” It’s different, he knows that, and God, there is nothing he can endure less than the loss of his children. But it hurts, it aches, the thought of losing Rhett, too. An impossible choice lies before him and he is going to have to make it sooner or later. He can’t sit here forever with Rhett’s hair tangled up in his fist and Rhett’s eyes all over him. He has to make a move. So he does. He lunges across the empty space between his mouth and Rhett’s, closing the distance, and he thought Rhett was done crying but he barks a sob against Link’s lips. He tastes like salt, tears on his lips, and Link can’t lose this. He won’t lose this. Rhett is beautiful and Rhett is _his_ ; the urge to stake his claim is one he can’t ignore. He kisses Rhett, hands cupping his face, and for his part Rhett kisses back with equal ferocity. It’s a kiss that says from both ends _I refuse to lose you_. Rhett feels the same as Link; it’s not hard to decipher the reason behind the intensity of their kiss. Rhett is just as scared. 

“I’m sorry,” Link breathes, and Rhett renews his tight grip on him by the back of the neck. 

“I know,” Rhett replies. 

“I’m sorry, Rhett,” he says again, and he is pathetic. He is going to cry, breaking for the hundredth time, and Rhett is going to be left to put him back together. Link swallows it down, choking on it, and Rhett pulls at his hair and whispers his name. 

“Oh, Link, it’s okay,” Rhett tells him even though it’s not. He presses kisses to the center of Link’s lower lip, his free hand slipping down Link’s ribs. No one is here to see them. No one is here to reach them, to touch them, to tell them they do nothing but wrong. So they do more. There is a blade hanging over Link’s head, a guillotine ready to fall, but he can’t tear himself from Rhett’s hands for anything short of the end of the world. Even if it happened, if the sun erupted or a black hole swallowed them up, Link can’t think of any place he would rather be than under Rhett’s fingertips. 

Link goes first and Rhett follows. They climb into the backseat of Link’s car, fumbling hands and bent spines, Link landing on the seat and Rhett chasing him. Rhett is far too big for this, his head brushing the ceiling even as he hunches, but Link holds him in his lap, Rhett’s knees bracketing his thighs. Rhett’s hands find his face and they kiss, a messy, haphazard thing, but Rhett moans and Link could die from the sound. Link slides his hands down, down the slope of Rhett’s back, down to cup his ass and then his thighs. 

“This has to be the last time,” Link says, and Rhett shivers under his hands. 

“God,” Rhett replies. It sounds like a prayer and Link will accept it as one; prayer is all they have. It could all end here, everything, more than thirty years totaling to nothing. Link is not ready to accept everything, it seems; his brain reacts violently to the thought of the end and Rhett groans as Link’s fingers dig deep into the undersides of his thighs. Sweat drips down the small of Link’s back, the heat in the car overwhelming, and sweat blooms on his upper lip as fast as Rhett kisses it away. Rhett’s palms are slick on Link’s face and his mouth hungry, reverent kisses passing back and forth between them like gulps of water. 

“Rhett,” Link says, and Rhett echoes Link’s name back at him. It’s too hot, too much, too awful and heavy and wrong. It isn’t fair, the end, and Link wants to scream. He wants the world to feel the same pain he does as he tries to survive the last, the end, the final. He wants to go back to the start, to the first, the one, the only, but that was a long time ago and he let it pass him by. He believed Rhett, back then, when Rhett whispered in his ear they had all the time in the world. They had hours, weeks, months, years to get it right, and Rhett was going to hold Link and carry him through all of it. But they didn’t and he didn’t and Link loses track of his body and when he finds it again he finds his throat constricted with panicked tears. 

_Please, God, don’t let this be the last time._

They have to get out of here; they have to find somewhere safe to take their last breaths. Link tries to draw away, to tell Rhett so, but it’s too much and Rhett’s too much and he tastes like himself, like the sea. Rhett kisses him hard enough to hurt, for his beard to scrape Link’s skin, and his mouth is going to be raw by the time Rhett releases him. 

“Rhett,” Link says, gripping the backs of Rhett’s thighs like his life depends on the hold he has on him. Maybe it does. 

“Link,” Rhett replies. 

“Let’s go, let’s go,” he says, pleading, scared, and Rhett pulls away enough for Link to see his eyes open, pupils blown wide. 

“Where?” Rhett asks, forehead pressed to Link’s, breath in his face. “Where, honey, where?” 

“Take us anywhere,” Link replies. _You lead and I’ll follow_. Is that not how they have always been? Rhett is braver, Rhett carves a path, and Link is so much smaller and Link is capable of nothing but following along for the ride. He would not trade treading water in Rhett’s wake for anything. Rhett is heavy in his lap, hard against the seam in his jeans, and Link begins to plead. “Please, Rhett, God, just get us somewhere we can make this good.” 

Rhett’s lips tremble as they catch Link’s, soft and warm and wet. “Okay,” he says. “Okay, okay.”

 

Rhett drives Link’s car with his knuckles white on the steering wheel. Link is tired of hotel rooms, of secrecy and tight spaces, but his stomach lurches as Rhett eases the car towards home. With his family out for the day Rhett takes them back to his house, to the guest bedroom, to the bed. Rhett kicks the door closed behind them and locks it, closing the space between him and Link in three easy strides. Link is ready for him. They crash to the bed, Rhett’s elbows on either side of Link’s head and their knees knocking before slotting neatly together. 

“This has to be it,” Link says, a reminder to himself more than to Rhett, and Rhett nods. 

“I know, I know,” he says. His voice is husky, ragged, thick, and this can’t be the end. It can’t be. But it is. He’s gorgeous above Link, perfect and beautiful. He is graceful, soft, mouthing kisses into the hollow of Link’s throat. “God, Link, I am so in love with you.” And it’s the worst thing he could have said, admitting it at the very worst time, and he kisses Link everywhere he can reach as tears begin to fall. Link is crying and he’s sure Rhett is, too, the two of them an ugly picture, but this has to be the last time. What else can they do? 

“Don’t say g’bye to me, Rhett,” Link says, stern as he can be, because Rhett spilling confessions like a man on death row is just as bad as saying goodbye. That is coming next; that is coming after. 

“I’m sorry,” he replies, teeth at Link’s throat, hands on his hips. “Just…need you to know. In case this kills me. I just need to know you know.” His big hands slip up under Link’s shirt, pushing it up, his palms hot on Link’s skin. Link writhes, keening, helpless, fighting to get closer to every touch. Rhett loves him; Rhett is in love with him, and Link is going to die before Rhett does. It isn’t fair. The end came far too soon. 

“I do,” Link says. “Believe me, Rhett. I do.” And he does, doesn’t he? He knows Rhett loves him and he knows Rhett is in love with him. He knows it more than he knows anything. It’s in his stoicism, his stoniness, the apples of his cheeks and the sparkling of his eyes. It’s in every _honey_ and _sweetheart_ and _baby_ ; it’s in the caressing of his fingers down the slopes of Link’s ribs. Link could be blind and still know it; he could be senseless and still he would be sure. Rhett shoves Link’s shirt up and he arches his back off the bed to help get it over his head. Rhett’s eyes travel the length of Link’s body as he tosses his shirt to the side, tongue firmly between his teeth. “What?” Link asks as Rhett looks him up and down for the second time, eyes pausing just above the waistband of his jeans. 

“’M just looking,” Rhett says, mouth quirking up into a smile soft enough to ease some of the pressure building on Link’s chest. “Is that all right?”

“Yeah,” Link replies. “But I’d rather you touch instead.”

“Okay,” Rhett breathes, hands landing on Link’s belly, fingers light. “Okay,” he says again. His smile falls, carefully crafted and stowed away again, and Link reaches up to press one finger to the spot from where it fell. He presses at Rhett’s cheek and the smile returns, Rhett leaning into the touch, his hands splaying out across Link’s ribs. Rhett closes his eyes as Link trails his fingers down, tracing the shape of Rhett’s lips. “What’re you doing?” Rhett asks. Link drags his thumb across the soft curve of Rhett’s lower lip and shakes his head. 

“Memorizing,” he says. _For when you’re not mine anymore_. He keeps the thought to himself but Rhett gets the picture, opening his eyes and locking them on Link. 

He breathes a word Link misses the first time around, and he says it again as he drops down to press his lips to the shell of Link’s ear. “Please,” he says, and before Link can ask him what he needs, what it is he pleads for, he tells him. “Please don’t let this be the last time.” 

“Rhett…”

“I know,” he says. “Stop it, I know. Just…gimme a minute.” Link obliges. He goes still as Rhett settles against his chest, heedless of his dead weight on top of him, face pressed into his throat. Link hesitates, his hands hovering over the swell of Rhett’s back, and Rhett sighs as he touches down and begins to rub circles into his shoulder blades with careful fingers. For a minute, for longer, they lie still, Link running his hands up and down Rhett’s spine. Rhett breathes against the side of Link’s neck, pressing his lips to his skin. Link lies breathless as Rhett’s breath washes over him, Rhett as still as stone. But he has to know as well as Link they can’t be still forever, and in the end his hand begins to move. He finds Link’s belt buckle, mouthing hungrily at his throat, and Link stares at the ceiling with his heart pounding in his head. He goes to help Rhett as he fumbles, trying to get the zipper of Link’s jeans down with one hand, without looking, but as Link closes his hand over Rhett’s wrist he pauses. “Gimme a minute,” Rhett repeats. And Link lets him go. Rhett shifts, shoving Link’s knees apart with his own, rising up on his elbows only to come crashing back down hard on top of Link. 

“Ung,” Link chokes, Rhett heavy on his chest, and Rhett chuckles. “What’re you doing?” Link asks, head spinning, hands fighting for purchase on Rhett’s rising and falling back as he laughs. 

“You can’t leave me if you can’t get up,” Rhett says. 

“Rhett…”

“Shh,” Rhett says. “Shh, I’m dead.” 

“Aw, man, you can’t be serious. Not right now…”

“Shh.” Rhett puts a cork in his rumbling laughter, pressing a dry kiss to Link’s cheek as he feigns death. “I love you. Link, I love you so much.”

“Stop,” Link orders, but Rhett doesn’t. 

“Since I’m dead,” he says, slipping his hand into Link’s jeans, “I get the luxury of loving you forever. Why would I wanna be alive?”

“Don’t say that,” Link snaps. He knows Rhett doesn’t mean that; he knows. But still, it makes him shiver to think of Rhett actually, really…

Link swallows hard and shoves the thoughts away. It is what he is best at, after all. 

“So you’re dead,” Link says, Rhett rumbling a soft _mhm_ against his skin. “Does that mean I get all your stuff?” Rhett huffs out a laugh that has Link trembling, Rhett’s breath dampening the hollow of his throat. 

“No,” Rhett says. “All my cool stuff goes straight to the kids. Sorry.” The back and forth between laughter and absolute despair has Link swimming, lost in his own head, but Rhett’s hand finding him and squeezing brings him back. And he is done letting Rhett be the one who gets to escape this. He shoves Rhett by the shoulders and to his surprise Rhett offers up no resistance. He lets Link rolls them over, releasing his hold on Link and lolling onto his back on the mattress. Link pins him down, his beautiful, perfect Rhett, and he stares down at him with something resembling fire rumbling in his belly. 

“This can’t be the last time,” Link says, Rhett’s eyes wide and his cheeks flushed. 

“No,” Rhett agrees, reverent. 

“I won’t let this be the last time.”

Rhett pauses, tasting Link’s claim, lips parting as Link hovers over him on his hands and knees. “Okay,” he says, and okay. Good. Okay, great. Link is panicked, rushed, dragging Rhett’s shirt over his head and yanking his belt off so fast it catches on his wrist and leaves a welt. “Sorry, sorry,” Rhett coos even though it isn’t his fault. He pulls Link’s wrist to his mouth and kisses him where it hurts, right over the bone. “Clumsy baby,” Rhett says, and the ridiculousness of the statement has Link choking out a laugh. “You are,” Rhett says. And then, “I love you.” He says it like he used to last July. He says it like he used to when things were good, back before Link hurt him, back before anything did. To hear the same love in Rhett’s voice, the same admiration, the same disbelief that Link was his…it overwhelms him. 

“God, Rhett, I love you, too.” Link is quick, methodical, as he strips Rhett of every piece of clothing separating his bare skin from him. The need to touch is as powerful as the need to break down and keep on crying. With only enough room in his heart for one Link chooses to search Rhett’s body with his hands. Rhett shifts beneath him in waves, rolling, all heat and soft edges. Link kisses his way down Rhett’s chest all the way down to the soft hair on his stomach, Rhett reaching out to take a handful of Link’s hair. He is beautiful and he is everything, all-encompassing as he keeps Link close. Link drops lingering kisses to Rhett’s stomach, to his thighs, to his hips until Rhett squirms and laughs and tells him to come back. Link obeys, one hand on each side of Rhett’s head, his hair in his face as he looks down at Rhett. 

“What?” Link asks. Devilish, Rhett beams. 

“Love me,” he says. “Get out of those clothes, get down here, and love me.” Link obeys. He kicks off his jeans and Rhett guides down his underwear, tossing it off the side of the bed to join the rest of the heap. Finally skin to skin, chest to chest and hip to hip, Link has no idea what to do. He knows what he wants and he knows what Rhett wants; he could burst from wanting, wanting, wanting. But if this is it, if this is the last, the final, Link wants to do everything he can to keep it from ever ending. If this is all he can give Rhett he is going to make it last. He is going to make it good. And he is going to love Rhett for as long as he can, until he simply can’t anymore. 

(Hell, he will probably try for long after that.)

Rhett senses the loss of urgency in the way Link moves; he knows Link as well as he knows himself. He smiles, slow, stilling beneath Link despite the sweat on his skin and the flush of his chest. He is going to let Link take all the time he needs. Always, Rhett waits for Link to take what he needs. All he feels is sorry he takes so much. Sorry he takes everything, sorry this is the end, sorry they could not get this right. Sorry he accepts kisses given to him in complete devotion and sorry he can’t give them back in equal fervor. He is sorry, sorry, sorry, and Rhett asks him what the hell he is so sorry for before he realizes the word slips from him over and over like a prayer. 

“I’m sorry for loving you,” Link says. Rhett is unfazed as tears splash onto his chest from Link’s trembling chin, watching them fall and alighting his eyes back on Link’s. Embarrassed, yanking his glasses off to toss them carelessly on the floor, Link covers his eyes with both hands. “’M sorry,” he says again. Rhett’s hands close over his wrists. 

“Don’t be sorry for anything,” Rhett says, “least of all lovin’ me. You don’t regret it, do you? The life you spent with me?”

“No,” Link gasps, peeking through his fingers to find the man he loves staring at him with anxiety tightening his face. “God, no.” At that Rhett’s face softens again. “Do you regret it?” he asks. “Loving me?”

“No,” Rhett replies. “No, Link. Never. Don’t for a second think I do. I might…” He pauses, hands tightening around Link’s wrists, lowering them until Link’s fists lie balled up on Rhett’s stomach. “I might wind up dyin’ from remembering this…later. Once we’ve…” Again he pauses. “Just, later. I might let it kill me. But Link, don’t for a _second_ think I would take back a single second I spent loving you. You’re the best part of my life, Link. You always have been.” 

“That can’t be…” Link tries, but Rhett hushes him.

“It’s true,” he says. Sincerity is not hard to find in his face, in his hands, in his eyes. He tells the truth and Link leans down to kiss him softly as he can. If this is the last time, if their kisses are numbered, Link is going to count each and every one and make them mean something. This one means _I feel the same_. The next one means _please say it again_. Rhett kisses him back like he knows exactly the way Link counts, one kiss and then two, three, four. More. They don’t speak anymore. There is not much they can say. Link’s heart is full, heavy, and he tries to tell Rhett so with each press of his lips. His heart is going to burst for loving Rhett and fearing the loss of him. Already Link feels the weight of loss on his chest, in his guts, and his tears land on Rhett’s cheeks and dry there. For Rhett’s part, his eyes are just as wet, tears falling down the sides of his face to land in his hair. How pitiful a picture they paint, the two of them crying into each other’s skin, and when Link breaks away to laugh Rhett joins him. 

“I know,” Rhett says, wiping tears from his eyes with the back of his hand. Link chases Rhett’s hand with his own to dab at the tracks left on his cheek. 

“Don’t cry, darlin’,” Link says, and he doesn’t mean to say it but once he does he lets it be. “Don’t cry. I love you.”

“That’s why I’m cryin’, stupid,” Rhett laughs, and the sob Link barks tears a hole in his chest. He presses his forehead to Rhett’s and kisses him, the sixth kiss of the last of them. When Link pulls away, sweaty chest sticking to Rhett’s, he spreads his hands out on Rhett’s stomach and pauses when he catches his eye. 

“What?” he asks. 

“You’re just so…” Rhett begins, but he cuts himself off by surging off the pillow under his head to catch Link’s lips with his. By the time he pulls back, licking his lips to seek the taste of Link on them, he seems less than inclined to continue. Link presses him. 

“I’m so what?” he asks. 

“Gorgeous,” Rhett offers, grinning as Link rolls his eyes. “Pretty?”

“No!” Link laughs. His laughter catches him by surprise time after time, spilling from his lips and sounding closer to a cry. 

“You are,” Rhett says. 

“So are you, then,” Link replies. He traces Rhett’s ribs with one finger, Rhett wiggling away, nose crinkling up with laughter. His eyes are still wet, red and puffy, but he laughs just the same. Link is sure he looks no better than Rhett, mussed up and sniffling and gasping to keep tears at bay. But on Rhett it looks all right. He is striking as ever, stunning, even with his nose running and his chin trembling. Without enough time Link tries anyhow to kiss each and every beautiful piece of Rhett one by one. He kisses his chest (one), his navel (two), each hip (three, four), and the pads of each of his fingers. Link loses count and starts again. Who cares if he has to count twice? He will gladly lie here and count as long as Rhett will allow it. He moves down to Rhett’s thighs, pressing one kiss to each, Rhett shuddering under his lips. He makes his way up again, up until Rhett cries out and chokes on Link’s name. His hands land back in Link’s hair, tangling up and pulling tight, and Link allows it. A little bit of pain is well worth the noises Rhett makes as Link swallows him down. 

“Link, Link, my Link,” Rhett keens, babbling, a fire burning in Link’s chest for the way Rhett claims him. He is Rhett’s. For now (forever) he belongs here with Rhett, belonging to no one else, no place else to be. It’s not real, none of it, but Rhett’s hands in his hair sure as hell are and Link focuses on that for as long as he can. As long as he is alive, as long as he is breathing, he is going to be Rhett’s. He is going to belong to Rhett for the rest of his life. 

For all the pain in his head, behind his eyes, Link lets himself for a moment believe it will be a short one. 

Before too long Rhett has his hands on Link’s face, fingers tight behind his ears, pulling Link up to meet his mouth. He goes where Rhett leads. What else has he ever done? Rhett leads them to the edge of a cliff, to a precipice, and Link follows as he jumps. What else has he ever done?

 

Rhett wakes Link with gentle fingers on his eyelids, swiping sleep from his eyes with the pad of his thumb. “Hey, baby,” he breathes as Link drags himself from a dream in which he was drowning. “Hey, the real world is callin’. You gotta get up, sweetheart. My family will be home soon.” At the mention of family Link’s heart sinks and he forces himself to rise, unsticking himself from Rhett’s bare chest and opening his eyes. Rhett looks more well rested, more content than he has since Link called him back for the first time. Contentment is a good look on him, a lazy smile playing on his lips and his hair in utter disarray. Propped on one elbow, Link reaches out to brush a strand of blonde hair back from Rhett’s sticky forehead. Rhett flicks his eyes up to follow the motion of Link’s fingers as he sweeps the loose lock of hair up and back into place. 

“Thank you,” Rhett says, catching Link’s hand on its way down and sinking his teeth into the knuckles. 

“Ow,” Link says, and Rhett bites down harder. He only lets go when Link stops whining and gasps out loud at the pain. Once he releases he traces the patterns his teeth left in Link’s skin with his fingertips as if looking for any excuse to keep Link still for a moment longer. 

“You have to go,” Rhett says, his words mismatched to the way he clings to Link like the last thing he wants is for Link to get back into his clothes. 

“Then let me,” Link replies. 

“Okay.” Still, Rhett holds on. 

“Rhett.” 

“I said okay, didn’t I?” 

“Rhett, lemme go.” Rhett sighs, shoulders slumping, and as he lets go of Link’s hand with both his own he throws his arm over his face. 

“I love you,” Rhett says, hiding from Link as he slips from bed with legs made of rubber. He wobbles, using the mattress for balance, and he rises, feeling terrifyingly close to fainting. Link waits for the stars to clear from his vision, for the feeling to return to his hands, and when it does he begins to collect his clothes. On purpose he snatches Rhett’s shirt instead of his own, slipping it on and stepping into his underwear. With his back turned he can feel Rhett peeking under his arm at him. 

“Will I get to see you tomorrow, Rhett?” Link asks. “For your birthday?” He tries to inject casualness into his voice, nonchalance, but as two people who have to learn to stay away from one another he and Rhett have a lot of space to give. Half of him wants Rhett to tell him no. 

After a quiet moment Rhett tells him, gruff, “Yeah, man. Of course. Why, are you treatin’ me to something special?” 

“Thought I just did,” Link replies, wiggling his hips in Rhett’s direction as he searches the floor for his socks. Rhett chuckles, bemused, and Link lands clumsily back on the bed to smother Rhett’s face in kisses. One, two, three, four, five…he loses count as Rhett laughs, trying to fend him off, Link’s lips raw from the hours spent trading kisses. He is going to take the rawness with him and use it to remember how this moment feels when it is long gone. “Love you,” he says. “Love you, love you.” And because this is the end, this is the last time, it only hurts for a moment when Rhett replies. 

“I love you, too.” 

Link finds his glasses under the nightstand and he slips them on, slipping them back off again to wipe a fingerprint from one lens. Rhett watches him from the bed with his eyes shining, glistening with tears waiting to fall. By the time Link is fully dressed, smelling like Rhett and smelling like sweat, Rhett has tears on his cheeks again. Link kneels by the bed to kiss them away. 

“Thank you, Rhett,” he breathes, Rhett’s face in his hands.

“For what?”

“For loving me.”

“You’ve already thanked me for that,” Rhett reminds him. 

“I know. But this is the last…”

“Don’t.” Link is used to being the one to plead for silence. Coming from Rhett it sounds closer to a cry of pain. 

“Okay,” Link replies. “I love you. God, do I love you.” He rises back to his feet and Rhett tugs on his hand to keep him still, to keep him close. Link wants nothing more than to crawl back into bed and have their last time all over again. But the real world is calling, Rhett said so himself, and Link will see him tomorrow. Tomorrow will be better. Tomorrow this will be easier. 

“Don’t leave,” Rhett says, but he has to. He came here for a reason, one more time before the end, and the longer he stands here the harder it will be. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Link says, pulling as gently as he can from Rhett’s grasp. “I love you.”

Rhett nods. He steels himself and he sits up, bones creaking to remind Link of how damn long they waited for this only to lose it. If Link keeps looking at the swell of Rhett’s bare chest he is never, ever going to leave. 

“Goodbye, Rhett,” he says. He turns on his heels and he walks away. Rhett does not call after him. Tomorrow will be easier. Tomorrow Link will not have tears on his face as he leaves Rhett behind. Tomorrow won’t be the last time anymore. Tomorrow will be the first day of trying to put the last time behind them. What else can they do?

 

Link is at the grocery store poring over birthday cards when his phone begins to ring. He fumbles for it, digging it from the pocket of his jeans, to find Jessie calling him. It takes him a moment to answer the call from the way his hands quake, all at once, fingers trembling. 

“Jess?” he says, questioning, but it would not take a man smarter than Link to know something is wrong before she speaks. 

“I asked one thing of you, Link,” Jessie says. “One goddamn thing.” Her voice is as strong as Link’s hands are weak and he curls in on himself in the aisle, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Jess, what are you talking about?” he asks. But he’s not stupid. He knows. 

“I asked you not to hurt him, Link,” she says, spitting venom. Link deserves it. He knows that, too. He knows. “All I asked of you was to make him happy. What the hell did you do, Link? Huh?”

“I…”

“He left a note on the counter saying he had to get away,” Jessie says, the sound of her unfolding a crinkled piece of paper coming through the phone in bursts of static. “Where the hell is he, Link? If he’s not with you, where is he?” Chest constricted to the point of pain, Link struggles to find his voice. When he does, it shakes and shimmies as hard as his hands. 

“I don’t know,” he says. 

“How could you be so selfish, Link?” Jessie asks, another in the long line of people who ask him the same damn thing. The need for a gulp of fresh air has him dashing back to his car as fast as he can go. “Why do you always have to keep going until you break him? All he wants is to love you, Link. Goddammit, why can’t you let him?”

“It’s not me,” Link says, pleading, bursting through the door and out into the unforgiving sunlight. His mind races with possibilities: home, North Carolina, the beach, the studio, anywhere where Link can’t get his hands on him. None of them seem right and he comes up empty, gasping for air he can’t quite get into his lungs. “It’s Christy, she…”

“You got yourself into this,” Jessie says. “You started it. Don’t you dare blame anyone but yourself, Link. I mean it.” She has never spoken to him like this, not ever; Link can’t think of a time when she spoke like this at all. Not Jessie, not the woman Rhett has loved for years. The fury in her voice has him horrified, scared out of his mind as he leans heavy on his car. 

“Jessie, I…” 

“Do you want me to read the note to you, Link? Would that drill into your thick skull every horrible thing you’ve done?” 

“No, I…” 

“ _I’m sorry_ ,” she reads anyway, lacing rage into Rhett’s words Link knows better than to assume is really there. “ _I just need some time away. Don’t worry about me, please. I won’t be gone long. I just can’t keep looking at all the places he should be to find him far away_.” Jessie goes quiet, leaving Link to bury his face in one hand and bite on his tongue to keep from crying. 

“Jessie,” he says, and this time she listens. “You have to know I…I never wanted it to be this way. I love him. You know I love him, don’t you?” 

“Yes,” she says. 

“I’ll find him,” he replies. “I’ll find him, Jess, and I’ll bring him back to you.” 

She scoffs. “It’s not me he wants. You know that. It’s you. I told you, didn’t I?” 

“Yes,” he replies. 

“I can’t believe you let him get away,” she says, the anger sliding from her voice bit by bit. It’s not worth the loss of her anger to have it be replaced by sadness. 

“I didn’t mean to,” Link replies. “He promised me tomorrow.”

“Guess what, Link?” she says. “He promised it to me, too.” She hangs up the phone and leaves him gasping for air in her wake. And they are all empty promises, aren’t they? Each and every one of them. But Link has one he needs to keep. He needs to chase after the second half of his heart. He needs to follow Rhett past the end, past the point when it should be over. He needs to follow him until he can’t anymore. 

Rhett has always been the one to follow Link no matter how far he runs. It’s time for Link to do the same for him. He owes Rhett the world. A little following after is the least he can do.


	13. Loving You Alone Isn't Enough

Link chases Rhett on the day after his fortieth birthday with nothing but thirty-three years of knowing him to help guide his way. He tries every place the two of them have ever stood together, beginning at the beach and ending up at the former home of Good Mythical Morning. Link lingers in the parking lot long after accepting it as empty. He looks up at the building, more familiar than his own home, with his chin propped on the steering wheel of his car. The engine rumbles beneath him, seat vibrating gently as something to which he pays no mind plays on the radio. It’s harder than he thought it would be to sit here idling in the parking lot, Rhett gone along with everyone else. Before he can think too much about it Link gets out of the car, leaving it running as he crosses the lot. He takes long strides towards the building, feeling strange as he shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans. No one waits for him inside; no bright voices chirping, “Morning, Link!” as he shoves open the door. No one lopes at his side, walking slow to make up for the difference in strides. There is no one here at all. There’s a cat, an orange cat sitting close to the building in a patch of shade, and as Link gets closer it begins to hiss. 

“I know,” he says to the cat, reaching for the building and pressing a hand to the same wall he’s leaned on a million times before. “I’m not welcome here. You don’t hafta rub it in.” Link goes to touch the cat and it flees, kicking up gravel as it goes. “That’s okay,” he calls after it, feeling more than a little ridiculous. “I wouldn’t wanna sit here with me, either.” He slides to the ground, leaning heavy on the warm wall of the building, his ass hitting concrete. In a heap on the tarmac he drops his head into his hands. It was stupid to think Rhett would find his way here. He ran for a reason; he does not want to be found. He doesn’t want Link to chase him. He doesn’t want Link to find him. He doesn’t want Link to throw his arms around him and cry and beg and pray. 

He wants Link to let him be.

But Link is impatient, scared, and the last thing he is going to be able to do is let Rhett go again. Before he can allow himself to fall apart again he picks himself up off the ground. The building is the same, warmed by the midmorning sun, and the lot is the same as the last time Link left it. Everything is the same except for Link and for the emptiness inside the building, vacant rooms and halls and walls. He leaves as quickly as he came. It’s easier to run, it’s always easier to run, and Link can’t blame Rhett for finding it the easy way out. He looks at the studio in the rearview mirror for so long he almost drives straight into a car stopped at a light, slamming on the brakes and swerving into the bicycle lane to avoid it. The person in the car raises their hands at Link in a gesture of incredulity he has used too many times to count and he gives it back, angry and tired and fed up. He chooses not to lay on his horn with his hand hovering over it; the person in the car in front of him has no idea what he has been through the past few weeks. It’s not their fault he almost hit them. He drops his hands and waits for the light to turn green. 

Link winds his way through Los Angeles and then keeps driving, gripping the steering wheel as tight as he can until the tips of his fingers begin to ache. The pain is an order: do not go home. Do not try to find him across the country. He is not there. There is no part of Rhett that would choose to run so far. He would never leave his family behind and he would never run so far as to be out of reach to them. (Would he?) Link’s phone weighs heavy in his pocket, the shattered screen reminding him of all the damage he has done, and as he idles in traffic he holds it in his palm. If he didn’t know Rhett any better he would try to call. But he does and he is not going to get an answer that way even if he calls a hundred times. Even so Link cradles his phone, scrolling through his recent calls to find them the same as always: Jessie, Rhett, Christy, Christy, Christy…

He drops his phone into the cup holder and thinks better of trying. 

He runs a hand over the stubble on his face as he weaves through endless, motionless traffic. Despite telling himself not to he drops the sun visor down, popping open the mirror to meet his own eyes. The man he sees is pale, bleary eyed, too many days of stubble on his face and his hair worn way too long. The man he sees is a man broken. He snaps the mirror shut and leans back in his seat, sighing long and loud as if the tiredness in his bones is anything but his own doing. (There is a mark on his throat in purple and pink and that is the only thing not done by his own hand.) 

_I just can’t keep looking at all the places he should be to find him far away_ , Rhett’s note to his wife read. Link sits up fast in his seat, back creaking from the sudden motion. Rhett left looking for a place where Link could not touch him. And here Link is, looking in all the places they touched together. All right. Okay. Easy. Rhett is somewhere he has only ever been alone. After the realization hits Link like a punch in the gut it’s easy to turn the car around and head out into the desert. Gravel skitters under the tires of his car as he presses down on the gas, sure for the first time of where to go. Rhett found a secluded spot in the desert, a spot where he camped when his family was away. He found a secluded spot in the desert, a place to be alone, a place to hide and pretend the rest of the world was not real. He told Link about it, earnest and excited, waving his hands about as he told Link they had to visit it together. They had to spend the night there together, under the stars, in the same tent, in the same sleeping bag. Link’s fear of getting caught was the only thing that kept him from saying yes, please, God, let’s go. It would hardly have been different from all the countless times they went camping together, in the eyes of Link’s wife, but he couldn’t go through with it knowing she could know. He and Rhett could lie under the night sky in each other’s arms, naked and comfortable and warm, but Link would not let himself have it. 

Rhett’s face fell when he told him no and now Link drives towards the spot with static playing in his head. White noise fills the blank spaces in his overtired brain as he drives, the GPS on his phone reading out directions to him. Rhett told him where to find the spot if he ever felt the need to share it with him. The echo of Rhett’s voice as he explained the best way to navigate the vast plain of the desert is as sharp in Link’s head as the day Rhett spilled it. 

“There’s this one spot where the road kinda disappears,” Rhett said, Link tucked neatly under the crook of his arm as they lay in Link’s marriage bed. “Don’t get scared, though. It kinda shows back up after a little bit. Trust me. There’s this cactus; you’ll know it’s the one because it’s bent really deeply sideways. If you see the bent cactus, that’s where the road should pop back up. It’s not that hard to find the place, yanno? You just have to know where to turn and where to keep going. I’ll show you sometime. It’s such a nice little spot, Link. There’s no one out there for miles and miles. And God, the stars! You never know how much you miss the stars ‘till you see them again. It’s like seein’ an old friend or something.” Link bit him on the side of the neck, playful and coy, and told Rhett he was being silly. “Maybe,” he said, shrugging so Link’s head lolled against his shoulder. “But it’s still nice. I wanna show you. Someday I’ll show you.”

“Sure,” Link said. He traced Rhett’s jaw with his fingertips until Rhett found his lips and kissed him raw. He never made it out there, not at Rhett’s side. But he goes now, going as far as the GPS will take him and then hoping against hope he will find his way from there. It’s not an exact science, chasing Rhett through the desert, but it’s the only hope he has. As Link drives the radio signal goes in and out along with the GPS, static garbling through the car in jumps and bursts. Every time the navigation cuts out Link’s heart jumps into his throat, thoughts of getting lost or stranded or worse attacking from all sides, but in the end it always comes back and he releases a sigh. Nothing bad is going to happen to him out here. At least, nothing bad he does not deserve. Rhett might not be happy to see him; Rhett might hit him. Rhett might tell him to go away and Rhett might end it, whatever the hell it is. 

Link tightens his grip on the wheel and turns the spotty radio up louder in a futile attempt to get away from his own thoughts. All his life, since he was a kid, the only thing that could silence the ceaseless, anxious roaring in his head has been Rhett. 

The car bucks up over a rocky patch in the road and Link holds on for dear life, cursing under his breath at the unevenness of the path to Rhett. If he gets a flat tire he is in huge trouble; the desert spans out far and wide on every side and there is no one and nothing to be seen. There are scorpions and snakes and cacti and not much else but rocks, the sun, and the wide blue sky. Rhett is out here somewhere but Link has yet to see a trace of the man he chases, be it a track in the sand or a patch of weeds pressed down by tires. There’s no sign at all anyone has been here in the history of time, never mind hours ago, and suddenly Link is not so sure. What if Rhett isn’t out here? What if Link is wrong? If he is…if Rhett is far away from here…Link does not know him half as well as he thought. 

Link bites down hard on his tongue as, distracted and on edge, he drives straight up over a boulder and comes crashing down on the other side. The tires hit the ground with a thump and Link swears around the tang of blood on his tongue. A terrible scraping noise cracks through the barren desert as the car bottoms out against the boulder. 

“Shit!” Link lisps, swallowing blood, wishing more than anything he had the car he and Rhett used to share. They sold it along with everything else belonging to the two of them. Or, Link signed the title and then Rhett did after and Link handed it off to Rhett to handle. He handed everything off to Rhett to handle. In any case the car is long gone and Link swears again as he tries to regain control of the car that is not cut out for this. Hell, neither is the driver. He has no right to curse the car when he is no better equipped to be out here. The car grinds, groaning in protest, unable for a moment to find purchase in the sand. But Link gets it back on the road, a sigh of relief slipping from his mouth, and he swallows again to rid himself of the metal taste on his tongue. It doesn’t work. It never works, trying to get unpleasant and entirely too pleasant tastes out his mouth, be it blood or Rhett. He swallows and gives up on trying. 

The car makes strange noises as he drives, the GPS finally cutting out for good citing a loss of signal. The wheel jerks in Link’s hands, something damaged by the forced drive over the boulder, and if Rhett is not close by Link is going to break down before he can find him. Going gets harder the longer he drives, the wheel sticking and jittering in Link’s white knuckled hands. He slaps at it and calls the car names and both efforts prove to be useless. Link is going to die out here; he is going to vanish in the desert before he can tell Rhett how he feels, how he would do anything in the world to keep him, how he will…

An orange tent sits in the middle of the desert, lonely and weather beaten and small. Link would know the tent anywhere. It belongs to Rhett.

Link guides the car as gently as he can, the wheel protesting and insisting he turn left when he needs to go straight. He wrestles with it as he goes, desperate to get close enough to see, to touch, to be sure it’s really him. The closer he gets the more he sees: Rhett’s car parked behind the tent, obscured by the unzipped door as it flaps in the breeze, Rhett’s sneakers sitting in the sand outside the tent, the remains of a fire pit pressed in shades of black into the ground. The more he sees the more scared he gets, terror freezing him as the car eases to a stop fifty feet from the tent. He can’t do this. He should not be here. He needs to leave, to do something to take his mind off Rhett’s disappearance, to drink more than he has in his whole life to forget. But Rhett pushes open the tent from the inside and all thoughts of fleeing leave Link like evaporating rain. He has the car in park and the keys ripped from the ignition before he can think. He is out of the car and on his feet before his next breath, Rhett loping across the space between them to meet Link in the middle. He is beautiful as the sun, as the sky, kissed pink and gold by the day spent out in the desert. 

And Link almost let him go.

Rhett says nothing as the space between him and Link lessens and lessens, long legs moving him fast across the sand. He’s shirtless, barefoot, wearing an old pair of board shorts and nothing else. And when Link closes the distance between them and throws his arms around Rhett’s waist the heat of his skin is enough to set him aflame. 

“Oh, Rhett,” Link breathes as Rhett returns the embrace, arms closing around Link’s shoulders. “Oh, Rhett, I can’t believe I found you.” He’s unbearably hot under the sun, feeling lightheaded and weak at the knees. He’s dizzy, the desert sky unforgiving, but with Rhett holding onto him it feels all right. Rhett presses his face into Link’s hair and the fear of death awaiting him out here goes away. Everything goes away, replaced with the summer smell of Rhett’s skin and the sweat sticking to his chest. Rhett’s arms are tight around Link, tight enough to hurt his shoulder, but he lets Rhett hold him. He missed him desperately, the day they spent apart feeling like weeks. 

“You came after me,” Rhett says. His voice is flat, strained, thick. Dull. Link pulls away enough to look up into his face and what he finds is Rhett looking down at him with pain in his stormy eyes. “Why did you come after me?” 

“B’cause I love you, you stupid idiot,” Link replies. Like Rhett doesn’t know why, like he has no idea, like he thinks himself not worth the trouble of traveling the California desert to find. But he is, he is, and Link missed him, heart racing in his chest for the way Rhett’s skin is heated by the sun. Rhett looks at him, searching Link’s face, his face twisted up in pain. “You ran away from me,” Link says, breathless, mimicking the accusation in Rhett’s voice. “Why did you run away from me?”

Rhett’s eyes dip down to Link’s lips and back up to his eyes again. “Come into the tent,” he says instead of answering the question. “You’re already goin’ all red from the sun.” He taps Link on the tip of his nose as if to prove he’s burnt there and Link winces at the sudden press of his fingertip. “C’mon.” He gets Link into the tent, the small space empty save for Rhett’s sleeping bag, a few bottles of water, and a lantern in the corner. Link sits down on the rumpled sleeping bag and pushes from his mind the persistent memories of Rhett offering to share it. Rhett sits across from him, sitting with his legs crossed, knees splaying out almost close enough to brush Link’s. For his part he sits with his knees drawn to his chest like a child trying to protect himself from something a hell of a lot bigger than him. (Maybe protecting himself is exactly what Link is trying to do.)

“What are you doing here?” Rhett asks, blunt and crystal clear. There is no malice in his voice. He is simply spent. Exhausted. Empty. Link would prefer it if Rhett yelled. At least then he could fight back, he could give everything given to him back times ten, he could have a fighting chance. When Rhett is quiet like this all Link can do is be patient with him and hope they come out of it in one piece. 

“I came to take you home,” Link says, dropping his chin to his knees, eyes firmly on Rhett’s. He looks right back. 

“I need some time,” Rhett replies, immediate. He puts up a wall between himself and Link and Link can hardly blame him. It keeps the two of them safe to keep distance between them. But even as Link lets himself think it he moves closer, reaching out a hand for Rhett’s knee. Rhett moves back. “I really, really need some time, Link,” he says. He looks at the hand Link let drop to the canvas bottom of the tent, palm up and fingers out. His eyes caress Link’s open palm and stay trained on the tips of his fingers. 

“Time for what, Rhett?” Link asks. The last thing he wants is for Rhett to answer him. But he does. 

“To be by myself,” he says. Link does not mention how, between the two of them, _by myself_ has always meant _by myself with you_. And Rhett goes on, mouth turned down, shoulders tense. “Jessie and I are gettin’ a divorce,” he says. “She wanted…last year when I told her what I...what I told her, she thought it would be better for the boys to try and make it work. But it wasn’t. It’s not. It’s not fair to her to have to stay with me, the guy who promised her the world and can’t even give her a word of comfort when she needs it. And it’s not fair to the boys because I can’t be half the father I wanna be anymore. And it’s…” Rhett dips his head but Link catches the way his chin quivers as his voice breaks. “It’s not right of me to stay in this marriage anymore if my heart’s not in it. Jess deserves better and so do the boys. So I told her how I felt. And now we’re gettin’ a divorce.” He shrugs like more than fifteen years of marriage means nothing, like it causes him no pain. But it’s evident in the slump of his shoulders and the waver in his voice how much pain it causes him just to say it out loud. And Link can do nothing to help him. He tries anyway because he has no choice; he has to try to save Rhett, to save this, to save them. 

“Rhett, I’m so sorry,” Link tries. Rhett cuts him off. 

“Don’t be,” he says. “It’s not your fault. It’s mine.”

( _I have every intention of giving him to you_.)

“That’s just not true,” Link says, reaching out again only to be rejected for the second time, Rhett moving his knee from Link’s grasp. He drops his hand back to the canvas and leaves it there; Rhett can reach for it if he needs the touch. Link tries not to let it sting that Rhett reverts to his old mannerisms when he’s scared. He withdraws from Link, refuses touch, keeps his hands to himself. Link hates it. He tries not to let it show. 

“I should have waited,” Rhett says. His brow furrows and he amends, “Or I should have given in sooner. If we had started when we were young…if we had let ourselves have each other…” He coughs, shaking his head. “Or if we had done right by our families and told them the truth from the beginning. But we didn’t. We screwed everything up, Link. But I don’t blame you. You were the braver of the two of us. It was up to me to tell you we couldn’t. And I didn’t.” He screws his eyes up tight when Link tries, fruitless, to touch him again. 

“I’m not blameless, man,” Link says. “Stop talking like that.” 

“I should have done so many things different,” Rhett says anyway. “I coulda kissed you in college, man, back when we were kids. It’s just…we were told…we were taught that stuff like that wasn’t allowed. You know. You grew up the same as me. We deserved better than what we got, Link. You have to know that, too. Don’t you?”

“Yes,” Link agrees, heedless of whatever it is Rhett means. 

“We deserved more time together,” Rhett says. 

“Yes,” Link replies. 

“We wasted so many goddamn years, Link.”

“I know.”

“And you were brave enough to…to kiss me, and I was so scared, and so were you, and even though the both of us were idiots we still made it so, so good. How did we make it so good, Link, when we were so scared?”

“We loved each other,” Link says, voice clear despite the rising terror in his throat. 

“Loved.”

“Love.”

“You’re never gonna stop loving me, Link.”

“No.”

“I thought…I thought, when you told me what your wife said…” Rhett’s eyes land on Link’s wedding band and all at once he wants to tear it off. Instead he twists it around and around his finger, slipping it off and on and off again, turning it until the gold band begins to warm on all sides. “I thought I could do this. I thought having you at all, in any capacity, would be enough for me. But you left me and I sat there for so long, remembering all these things I thought I forgot…and I can’t. I can’t do this. I know what it’s like to have all of you, Link, and I can’t go back to how we were before. There’s no going back from having your whole heart, man. Not for me.”

Link grasps for something to say, anything, coming up with a breathless, “But you said…”

“I know what I said. I said I’ll be here for you no matter what. I know. But you left me, Link. You left me and I thought I could do this. I thought I could go back to bein’ your friend. But I can’t.”

“Rhett, you…”

“I think we really ought to try and take some time to…”

“Rhett, no.”

“…figure out who we are without each other.” The hammering of Link’s heart reaches a painful crescendo and then it sinks, crashing down into his stomach and burning a hole where it lands. 

“Rhett, what’re you saying?”

“I want you to leave,” he says. He enunciates clearly, voice steady, and Link sees right through him. This is not half as easy for him to say as he wants Link to think it is. “I want you to work on yourself. I want you to be able to see your kids, spend some time with them, make yourself happy. I want you to smile, Link, is that too much to ask? You hardly do it around me, not since you called me back into your life. I can’t be worth all this to you. I want you to be happy, that’s all. So, so ridiculously happy.”

“I am when I’m with you.”

“Link, that’s not true anymore and you know it. I hurt you, baby. I… _shit_.” Rhett buries his face in both hands, a shudder wracking his body, breathing hard through his nose. “I love you and I keep on loving you but it’s not enough. I’m not as good as you think I am, Link. I want you so badly I don’t know what to do with myself. Even right now, when I’m sittin’ here trying to tell you g’bye. I want you so bad I could die.”

“Don’t,” Link says, stupid, cursing himself the moment it slips through his lips. Rhett chuckles despite the despair written all over the fine lines in his face. 

“Link, trust me,” he says. “I promised you I wouldn’t come between you and your family. And I won’t. I promised you a lot of things I can’t give and this isn’t goin’ to be one of them. If I go home with you, I’m not ever gonna be able to let you go again. You’re mine, Link. God, at least that’s what I let myself believe. You’re the other half of me. If I leave here with you I’m gonna try and keep you forever. And you’re not mine to keep.”

“I am,” Link breathes. The space between him and Rhett is far too much, a chasm of infinite depth, far too deep and wide. Link lunges across it, reckless, terrified, and Rhett catches him on the other side. Link shudders against Rhett’s throat, against the warmth of his sun kissed skin, Rhett’s arms wrapping tight around him as Link crouches on his knees before him. “You’re a goddamn moron, Rhett, if you think you’re not leavin’ here with me.” 

“I can’t,” Rhett replies, lips on Link’s shoulder over his T-shirt. 

“You have to.”

“You’re not listenin’.” 

“ _You’re_ not listening!” Link replies, shoving away enough to meet Rhett’s eyes. They look the same as always, old and smart beyond their years, wicked and deep and perplexing, too bright for Link to read. They scan Link’s face, Rhett’s hands locked at the small of his back. For a minute they hold anger, impatience, confusion. But they clear as Rhett relaxes, forgetting for the moment his urge to stave off sweet touches and sweet nothings. 

“My Link,” Rhett says, rosy lips falling open, offering them up himself. His mouth is close enough for Link to catch. He lets his eyes drop to it, to the pink fullness of Rhett’s lower lip, but he has too much to say to risk the words getting taken from his mouth now. 

“I’ve been yours for almost thirty-five years,” Link says. He sinks his fingers into Rhett’s mussed up hair until Rhett groans. “And I’m gonna be yours for thirty-five more. I’m not lettin’ you run away like you let me. I’m smarter than that. B’cause there’s no running from you and me, Rhett. None. You can’t tell me you’re giving up now. You can’t tell me all of this has been for nothin’. I won’t let you tell me that. It’s bullshit, Rhett. If you sit here and try to tell me you’re giving up, after I lost everything for you…” It only takes one look into Rhett’s anguished storm cloud eyes to see Link found the truth in them. He tapers off, fingers tight in Rhett’s hair as Rhett’s hands are around his waist. “You said it couldn’t be the last time,” Link says, quiet, the crackling in his voice betraying him.

“And you said it had to be,” Rhett reminds him, far from unkind. That’s what kills Link. He means everything he says; he’s so goddamn sincere. He’s open wide, he’s an open book, and Link wants to crawl away and hide. 

“Rhett,” Link says.

“I know,” Rhett replies. 

“We swore it’d last forever.” Rhett grimaces and savagely Link is glad; let him feel the same pain as Link does. 

“Link, why do you have to make everything so hard?” Rhett asks. “Just for once in your life, can’t you let something easy be easy?”

“What the hell is easy about you tryin’ to say goodbye?” All at once the air in the tent is too stagnant, too dry, and Rhett follows Link with his eyes as he flies to his feet. His head swims, the heat getting to him, and Rhett is there to catch him with a hand on his back as his knees almost betray him. 

“God, Link, you all right?” 

“I’m fine!” Link snaps. He aches and he’s dizzy and he feels he might pass out or throw up or both, storming from the tent with Rhett on his heels. There is no graceful way to leave a tent and Link gets tangled in the mosquito netting of the door and swears at it until Rhett reaches out to free him. Once he’s unstuck he’s gone, storming out to his car, storming out of Rhett’s life if that is what he wants. Fine. Good. Rhett wants easy? Link can give him easy. 

“Link, wait!” Rhett calls. Link ignores him. They can’t be friends. Fine. Good. They can’t be anything. Fine. Good. Better. Link reaches his car and rips open the door, intent on doing something stupid like crying, hunched over the steering wheel. But Rhett slams into the car and shuts the door with one hand, using the other to grab for Link’s hand. 

“Back off!” Link shouts, and he lashes out. He hits Rhett hard in the center of his chest, Rhett grunting with the force of the blow, Link’s fist aching from connecting with his sternum. He shakes it out as Rhett stands still, mouth open and eyes on Link. “What?” Link snaps. “What, man? You want easy. I’m not able to give that to you. Fine. Good. I’m going.” He tries again to get into his car, face on fire, scared out of his mind of the pain in his hand. He hit Rhett; he hit him and Rhett still stops him. 

“Don’t go like this,” Rhett says, hand splayed out on the window of Link’s car. He rubs at the sore spot on his chest and Link is sorry but refrains from telling Rhett so. 

“You were supposed to tell me not to go at all!” Link roars. Out here no one can hear him. Out here he can scream. The freedom to shout to the sky, to Rhett, has him seeing stars from the heat of his own voice. “I came for you, man! What else do you want? Huh? Enlighten me, Rhett! What do you want from me?” 

“I thought it was obvious,” Rhett says, face inches from Link’s as he backs him up against the side of the car. “I want all of you. I want to go to sleep next to you every night and I wanna wake up next to you every morning. I want to kiss you and I wanna touch you and I want to be able to hold your hand where everyone can see. I wanna grow _old_ with you, Link; I want to have you forever. I want the only ring on your finger to be one I put there. I want it to be you and me for the rest of our lives.” His voice dips as Link stands still, horrified beyond measure at the story Rhett tells. “But guess what, Link? I can’t have that. Not any of it. You won’t let yourself have it. And I’m not faulting you for that. I’m just telling you, once and for all, that I can’t be close to you if I can’t have all of you. I thought I could love you forever as your best friend. I thought I could. But you’re everywhere I look, Link. You’re in every piece of my life. And as long as that’s the case…”

“Stop,” Link snarls. Startled, Rhett does. He looks down at Link, pinning him to the car, close enough to kiss or touch or hit. “You were okay. You told me it was the last time and you were okay.” His hands ball into fists as he speaks through clenched teeth. He is going to lose it. He has to hit something; he has to cry and scream and tear the world apart bit by bit. 

“I know, honey,” Rhett says. “But…” Link does not wait to find out what Rhett has to say. He speaks first, to protect his heart if nothing else. 

“Don’t you dare call me that, Rhett,” he says. 

“Baby,” Rhett challenges. 

“Shut up.”

“Sweetheart.”

“Rhett.”

“Mine.”

“Rhett!” 

“The man I love.” And it’s a simple term, four little words, the same words Link thought to himself over and over as he and Rhett circled the drain together. Broken hearted and more scared than he has ever been, Link rebels against it. He shoves Rhett away with both hands, sending Rhett stumbling across the desert sand. The horror on Rhett’s face has to be visible tenfold on Link’s. He wants to stop hurting. More than anything he _needs_ to stop hurting; he needs to stop hurting himself and he needs to stop hurting Rhett. More than anything, he simply needs to stop. 

“I’m sorry,” Link says, lightheaded, the desert swimming before his eyes. It’s hot but he’s not sweating anymore, his skin dry and his T-shirt soaked through. 

“Don’t be sorry,” Rhett says, the defeated, broken down anger on his face softening as Link wavers. 

“I came here hoping we’d leave together,” Link says. He sees stars as he stands, all the blood in his body leaving his head to pool in the pit of his stomach. “I came here to show you how much I love you.”

“I know,” Rhett says, palms up, eyes wide. “And I came here to show you the same, Link. I’m not in your way anymore. I won’t be that person anymore, the one who keeps you from bein’ happy.”

“You’re the only reason I’m surviving,” Link replies. He wavers again, the sun bearing down on him, relentless. 

“I promise I won’t say goodbye to you forever, Link. Not ever. I just need some time, Link, to try to figure out who I am if I don’t have you.” 

“Why say it at all?” For no reason at all Link slurs, tongue heavy in his mouth. Rhett catches on before Link does. And he catches Link right before he hits the sand. He has his hands all over Link’s face, thumbs pressing into his cheeks, Link forcing his eyes open against the garish heat of the sun. 

“Link, are you all right?” Rhett asks again. It takes Link a moment to realize the sun took a toll on him, unlocking his knees for him and spilling him to the earth. He tries to tell Rhett he is just fine but all he gets out is a whimper that has Rhett panicked, phone in hand. 

“’M okay!” Link gasps as Rhett opens up his phone to call God knows who. “Rhett, stop. I just…”

“You just collapsed, Link,” Rhett says, deadpan, severe. It’s hard to make out his face, the sun behind his head, but Link can make out his furrowed brow and beautiful, perfect, downturned lips. 

“I know.” Link sits up and his head pounds, sand in his hair and in his eyes. Rhett looks downright terrified, hovering his hands over Link, crouched over him in the dirt. His palms are caked in it and the sight makes Link laugh, choking on it, thinking of all the times he and Rhett got covered in dirt together. The culmination of over thirty years of utmost, reverent devotion can’t end in the middle of the desert. It cannot end at all. 

(They snuck into dirty barns to break things that did not belong to them; they rode their bikes through the streets and rode home caked in mud all the way up to their knees; they stepped together into the Cape Fear River and spent hours wandering, sticky with dust and dirt and dirty water.)

It cannot end as it began, in dirt and heat and sand. It cannot end at all. 

“I love you,” Link says. 

“I love you, too,” Rhett replies without hesitation. He lets Link sit up and he helps him to stand, leaving him leaning weary on the side of his car to get a bottle of water from the tent. As he goes a crumpled slip of paper falls from the back pocket of his shorts, dropping into the sand. Link only pauses for a moment before scooping it up and putting it into his own pocket. He knows exactly what it is. It’s the song Rhett wrote in a hotel room he will not let Link read. The single piece of paper weighs heavy in Link’s pocket as Rhett reappears from inside his temporary getaway. When Rhett comes back he has two water bottles; he cracks one open and passes it into Link’s hand and as he drinks Rhett toys with the second. He leans in without waiting for an invitation, pressing the water bottle to the back of Link’s neck. It’s not cold but it hasn’t been overheated by the sun; it feels cool on Link’s skin and he leans gratefully into the press of it on the back of his head. He lets Rhett baby him; he lets himself be Rhett’s baby for a moment longer. After some time of standing alone together, the sun their only companion, Rhett asks Link, “You okay to drive home?”

“Guess I gotta be,” Link replies. He takes the water bottle on the back of his neck from Rhett’s hand and keeps the other, bringing it to his lips and drinking deep. Rhett watches his throat as he takes long swallows and Link stifles the urge to cry. “We’re gonna come back from this,” Link says, “aren’t we?”

“God, Link,” Rhett replies, beautiful as always beneath the bright blue sky. “I hope so.” 

“You’re not gonna stay out here forever.”

“No,” Rhett almost laughs. “No, Link, I just need…”

“Some time,” Link interrupts. “Yeah.” He finishes his bottle of water and presses it to Rhett’s chest, waiting for Rhett’s hand to close over the bottle and the back of Link’s hand. When it does he lets the contact linger for a moment, for a minute. He waits for Rhett to break it. But he doesn’t. He holds on to Link, to the empty bottle between Link’s hand and his chest. And Link has to be the one to pull away.

He tries not to think about all the things that rest in Rhett’s hands (his fate, his heart, the second half of his beaten up soul) and he tries instead to memorize the way Rhett looks under the brilliant sun. 

“You’re sure you’re okay to drive,” Rhett says, going for Link’s face. Link backs away.

“Yeah, yeah,” he says. “Fine. I’m fine.” Truth be told he feels dangerously close to losing his grip on his consciousness altogether. He is not going to tell Rhett so; he doesn’t want the worry on Rhett’s face to be there anymore. He wants it to go away. The last thing he does is press his thumb to the spot between Rhett’s eyes where the worry burns, his brow furrowed, until Rhett lets his face soften. “Come back to me,” Link says. He doesn’t wait for Rhett to make a promise either way. 

Rhett watches Link as he drives away, leaving the desert behind. And Link watches him. 

They were good. They were so, so good. And then they were gone.


	14. Your Lover, Your Friend

Banished to a hotel room as divorce papers reduce Link’s marriage to _his_ and to _hers_ , he tries to learn to live in utter silence. It does not suit him well; the first night he paces and he stays up until the sun fills the room with orange light. He hardly feels like himself. When the hell has he ever been anything but a second half? He was half of a duo, half of an empire, half of a unit his whole life. Without someone to hold the other half of Link’s heart he flounders, alone. It’s dizzying, Link’s equilibrium off kilter with the loss of a steadying arm to clutch. 

Days pass and Link lets his beard grow out for the first time in years. Days pass and Link forgets to eat until he sees stars when he stands. After that he sits alone in his car, getting food into his stomach as fast as possible to get it over with. And he ends up on his knees in the bathroom of his hotel room, heaving until nothing else comes up. Forehead pressed to the cold porcelain, Link tries to force himself to rise. To brush his teeth, to go to bed. ( _Just for once in your life, can’t you let something easy be easy?_ ) Nothing is as easy as it should be and Link languishes on the bathroom floor until his legs go numb. 

The jeans he wore into the desert lie on the linoleum just out of reach, a piece of paper poking from the pocket. He has been waiting for a sign to unfold it and read it since the day he left Rhett behind. But Rhett has not called him. Rhett has not reached out. And Link deserves it. He kept Rhett waiting; he always kept Rhett waiting, for their whole lives and then for a year and then for weeks, his pride and his stubbornness keeping him from being the first to speak. Paying for it now is the least he can do. The silence from Rhett is a hell of a lot louder than shouting ever could be. 

Despite no promise of a sign either way, Link reaches for his jeans. He tugs the crumpled piece of paper from the pocket and sand comes with it, sprinkling the bathroom floor. The paper is not at all carefully folded; it has been balled up and tossed from a tent in the middle of the night. Link bounces it in his hands, on his knees on the tile, and he holds it in the center of his flattened palm. It is not his to read. The words are not his to see. But he knows Rhett; he _knows_ him. And whatever words line the page, the words are meant for Link. Not for him to read, not for him to hear, but they are his just the same. Link has the page half unfurled before he loses his nerve and tosses it away. 

The next thing he picks up is his phone, writing a text to Rhett before he finishes deciding if he is going to send it. _I picked your song up out of the sand_ , he types with shaky hands. His fingertips make the choice before his brain catches up and the message sends. Rhett’s response is immediate. 

_It’s not my song_ , he writes. _It’s yours_. And Link’s heart swells in his chest, making it more than a little hard to breathe. It only gets worse as he rises, scooping the rumpled slip of paper off the floor on his way to bed. With the crisp white sheets pulled up over his head Link lies on his stomach, phone in one hand and the song written for him in the other. A million and one times, he and Rhett penned songs together. They were never serious, never somber nor complex. There were no songs for one another, no confessions of love nor a lack thereof. There was nothing between the lines, no secret that had to be unraveled. It was straightforward, easy. Link holds the song in his fist and gives himself an order: _burn it_. But an order from his own stretched out and overtired brain is an order easily ignored. He unfurls the song like a sail, opening it up with his eyes screwed up. He’s not ready to see yet. That’s all. To remember the softness in Rhett’s face as he hid the song from Link is to break down crying; Link is not ready to drag up all the things he wants to forget. 

Despite himself his fingers do the work for him. 

Rhett’s handwriting, sprawling and leaning, makes Link’s heart skip a beat. He has watched it evolve from a childish scrawl to attempts at neat, perfect cursive and back again as Rhett’s ideas came forth too fast for him to write legibly. The messy ink, blotched in places by Rhett’s hand, is too much for Link. He should not be reading this. It isn’t his to read whatever Rhett may claim. 

Even as he tells himself he is better off not knowing he begins to read. 

_Moonlight makes you younger, so much younger than you are_  
_Silver stars leave their mark upon your skin_  
_You are beautiful like this, homesick heart and restlessness_  
_I won’t believe you when you tell me it’s a sin_

_You’ve always been a part of me_  
_Through every year, through everything_  
_And you are mine, you are mine, you are mine_

_Sunlight makes you tender, so much tenderer by far_  
_Than the man you tell yourself you ought to be_  
_You are perfect in my arms, unsure eyes and open heart_  
_I won’t believe you when you say you have to leave_

_You’re still my favorite part of me_  
_Despite the years, despite everything_  
_And you are mine, you are mine, you are mine_

Here the ink smudges, scribbles in black marker blocking out a section, and Link’s eyes hurt from keeping tears at bay. He forces them back, choking, biting down hard on his tongue. The ink changes after that. It goes from black to red, a fresh day, a fresh pen, a fresh perspective. Not wanting to know at all, Link swallows and drops his eyes back to the page.

_But I see the years weigh heavy in the light behind your eyes_  
_And I know you want me to be satisfied._  
_But before you were the world’s, before you were theirs and you were hers…_  
_You were mine, you were mine, you were mine_  
_You were mine, you were mine, you were mine_

The message of the song is loud and clear: Rhett thought they finally had each other. And now all of it is gone. Link lies still, on his elbows in his bed, and he tosses his glasses aside as all attempts to keep from crying prove useless. Rhett thought they had all the time in the world. And now he knows better. Link should have seen this coming, a goodbye penned by Rhett’s hand, but still it catches him by surprise. His breath hitches and he sounds pathetic, face in his hands and body quaking. Rhett laments the lost years, the years Link should have given him. But the longer Link lies in his bed, nose running and tears dripping down his chin, the angrier he gets. Link is not the only one who could have done something, who could have said something, who could have opened his mouth and screamed he wanted more. Rhett could have told him. Rhett _should_ have told him, back when they were young, and why is Link the one lying by himself and broken when it’s Rhett who helped cause it all? 

_It’s not my fault you were a coward, Rhett_ , he types before he can think, phone in his hand. _It’s not my fault you could have done something and you didn’t. It’s not my fault it ended._ He sends the spiteful, terrible message and feels like dying when Rhett replies moments later. 

_You’re right. And it’s not my fault we fell in love._

Leave it to Rhett, wise and calm beyond anything Link is capable of, to shatter one of the last remaining panes of glass that protect Link’s heart. Link forces himself to rise, to pace the room, to pick himself back up when he stumbles over his laptop cord and goes sprawling. Rhett told Link they need time. They need to learn who they are without one another. Fine. Link can do that. But first he has a fight he needs to see through to the end. 

_It’s not my fault you wrote me a song that hurts my heart_ , he writes. And he is desperate to hear it, to ask Rhett to play it for him; he can see the look on Rhett’s face, the face that would be impossibly soft as he played. But more than that he never, ever wants to read the words again. In black and white and red it is far too much. 

_It’s not my fault you look the same as you did as a kid in the moonlight_ , Rhett replies. 

_It’s not my fault I didn’t realize how much you loved me as a kid._

_It’s not my fault I didn’t know how to show you._

_It’s not my fault I’m not so good at reading signs._

_It’s not my fault you didn’t get glasses until you were grown up and it was too late to tell you to look up for a second and try to read them again._

Despite the desperate tinge to the messages, to the pounding of his heart in his ears, Link laughs. He sits down hard on the bed, shaking his head, fingers shaking as he clutches his phone and tries to come up with a reply. 

_It’s not my fault I’m never gonna be able to live without you_ , he settles on, simple and sweet and to the point. After all this time, Rhett deserves transparency more than anything. Link can give him that. 

_No_ , Rhett replies. _But it’s not my fault I asked you to_. 

_No?_ Link asks. 

_No. It’s not my fault I keep failing at doing the right thing. It’s not my fault I can’t figure it out. It’s not my fault I can’t see the light at the end of the tunnel anymore no matter how hard I try. When do we stop trying, Link? Do you have any idea how far this can go before it has to stop? I hurt, Link. And I can’t hurt like this forever._

This message Link reads twice. And then he reads it again. Rhett quiets, Link’s phone impossibly heavy in his hand. There is nothing he can say. He has no power to make this right; Rhett took it all into his hands when he told Link to leave him in the desert. The only thing Link can do is give Rhett all he can. And all he can is not ever going to be nearly enough. Link wants to call but he holds back, fearing what his heart will do if Rhett refuses to answer. He does not have to worry about it for long. His phone vibrates in his hand, Rhett calling him, and Link’s heart soars up into his throat. He still knows Rhett better than anyone. He still knows Rhett, his Rhett, better than he knows himself. 

”Rhett,” he breathes into the phone, and Rhett is there on the other line. His voice is the same as always, deep and calm and sweet, and he says Link’s name the same way he always has, like Link is the only person whose name will ever pass his lips again. 

“Hey, Link,” he says. “It’s too hard to have this sort of conversation over text, don’t you think?” 

“It’s too hard to have it at all,” Link replies. 

“Don’t do that to me,” Rhett says, a sigh chasing the warning. “You came after me. You can’t tell me you’re scared of me now.” 

“Not scared,” Link replies. “Just a little petrified.”

“Link, please don’t be scared. You’re capable of living a life that’s not half mine.” Rhett’s words take a moment to catch up with Link and when they do he chokes, a sound like he’s been punched escaping him. Rhett hears it. “You are,” he says. “I know you are. You did it for a year, Link, and you were fine. You lived your life and I lived mine and we were fine. Don’t you think it would be better for you if you tried, for a while, to live without me? I know what you’re gonna say, so lemme say my bit first. You’re going to be fine, Link. You’re gonna work through whatever you need to with your family, and you’re gonna come out the other side. I know it doesn’t seem like it now, but you will. Christy is goin’ to hate you for a long, long time. But your kids won’t. I promise. And they’ll be fine, too. Everyone will be fine. I think you just need to take a step away from me, from all the hurt I’m causing you, and…”

“What was the point, Rhett, of our entire goddamn lives if we don’t get to keep living them together?” Link snaps and Rhett stops, going quiet. 

“You’re gonna hate me for a long, long time, too,” he says after a silent moment Link spends balancing between fury and panic. 

“Oh, I’m already there,” Link replies. 

“I know. But you’re not gonna hate me forever. I know you better than to fall for that again. You’re gonna heal and I’ll still be here. And then, when we’ve fixed everything we’ve broken, then you’re gonna let yourself feel worthy of love.” 

“Don’t try to talk like a psychiatrist to me, Rhett,” Link says. “Like you know what you’re talking about.” He was the one who was pleading with Link a moment ago, telling him through a phone screen he can’t do this much longer. Who is he to diagnose the messed up, jagged parts of Link? 

“Why is your first instinct to put your fists up when you’re scared, Link?” Rhett replies, and for that Link has no answer. He unclenches his fist without realizing he balled it up until he looks at the red crescent moons in the center of his palm. “I called because I thought hearing me say it would make you feel better than if I just told you through the damn screen.”

“You were wrong.” 

“I’m always wrong, Link. God, am I always wrong.” Rhett sighs, a long, shuddering sigh, the sigh of a long suffering man who knows he has more to suffer before he gets to the end. Link feels much the same. “Can I trust you to come back to me when this is all over, Link? Or am I wrong about that, too? Are you planning on running away again, to a place where I can never find you? Is that how it’s gonna be forever, now, you running and me left to try and find you? Because I’m _hurting_ , Link, and I can’t do it anymore. I need to know there’s hope at the end of all this. If there isn’t…”

“There isn’t,” Link says. It’s not fair, the way Rhett gets to yell and be angry and tell Link he is in pain. Because Link is, too. If Rhett could see him, lying on his bed with his stomach empty and his nose ruby red, he would know better than to tell Link he is the one who is hurting. It isn’t fair, none of it, and Link simply wants everything to stop. It was sweet and then it wasn’t; they were fine and then they weren’t. They were good until they were not and that is the story of Link’s life. Everything fell apart and it continues to tumble down all around him, brick by brick. Rhett called to try and make it better. And Link answered to tear it all apart. 

“There isn’t,” Rhett replies. 

“No. What else can I say, Rhett? I can’t promise you anything. You know that.”

“But if you can promise me you’re going to come back…”

“I can’t.” ( _Just for once in your life, can’t you let something easy be easy?_ ) There is nothing easy about this but Link loves Rhett too much to keep doing this to him. Since the beginning he has jerked Rhett around, telling him things he should have kept to himself. Since the very beginning Link took what he wanted and balked when Rhett asked for something in return. Why should now be any different? 

Rhett is quiet until he erupts. 

“You know what, Link?” he asks, voice rising, tilting up, gaining speed towards an explosion. “Where are you? I’m coming to you right now, baby, and I’m not letting you walk away without an explanation for every shitty goddamn thing you’ve ever said to me. You owe it to me to be good to me, Link. Don’t think for a second I don’t know that. You’re done mistreating me. We’re best friends. We’ve been best friends our whole lives. And if you think I’m gonna sit here and let you do this to me…”

“Screw off,” Link says. The room spins and he hates himself; he hates this. What is he doing? Spitting venom is far easier than saying _I love you_ and Link chooses the easy way out for the hundredth time. 

“No, _you_ screw off!” Rhett shouts, and finally the timbre of his voice quiets Link. “I love you. God help me, I love you. And nothing you could do to me or say to me is ever gonna change that. I’ve loved you your whole life, Link. You can _fuck off_ if you think you can fight me until I give up on you. You’re such a jerk, Link. You’re such a goddamn jerk. But see, you don’t seem to realize. I know that about you. And I love you anyway. You only do it ‘cause you think it’s the right thing to do. But guess what? It’s not. So, I’ll ask you again. Where are you, Link?”

Link stares at the ceiling and wanders backwards to a time when Rhett’s voice was soft in all the places where he’s made it hard. _It was so, so good_ , Rhett told Link a long, long time ago. _When you let it be_. It was the softest Rhett had ever looked; defeat made him smaller and the slump of his shoulders made Link think of all things powerful that in the end were broken down. In the end, broken was the only way to describe Rhett. But they made it past the end, building something back up again. They were good. They were so, so good. And they built it up just to find themselves at another dead end. Rhett is right. How long are they going to keep trying before they accept it was always meant to end for them? 

(If he could tell the Rhett and Link of ten years ago, of twenty, that the blood oath and the promises and every hope and dream would amount to nothing, the two of them would laugh in his face.)

In the end Link tells Rhett just where he is and Rhett says, “Don’t run. I’m coming right now.” 

“Hurry,” Link says because he has been alone for far too long. And Rhett does. He knocks on the door and he frowns the moment Link opens it to let him in. 

“You look like hell,” Rhett says, and Link lets him in anyway. He tells Rhett he knows. For his part Rhett is glorious, tan and pretty in the sunset orange light seeping in through the window. He has his hair down and his shoulders tensed up, closing the door behind him and gathering Link up in his arms before anything else. Link lets himself be cradled, crushed to Rhett’s chest. “You’ve been crying,” Rhett says, and bleakly Link nods. Rhett knows him too well and there is no point lying. He pulls away and looks down at Link, eyes tracing first his mouth and then the curve of his jaw. 

“I know,” Link says before he can be told. “I need a shave. I need a haircut. I need to wash my face and change my clothes. I know.”

“Link,” Rhett says, chastising him with his own name. “That’s not what I was gonna say.” 

“You were gonna say something horrible and romantic, then,” Link replies. 

“Yeah. I was gonna say you look beautiful. Beard and runny nose and blotchy cheeks and all.” Rhett touches each of these things in turn, first pressing his fingers to Link’s jaw, to the tip of his nose, to the high point of his cheek. 

“I thought you wanted to try to live without me,” Link says. 

“Bad idea,” Rhett admits, a hollow laugh escaping him. “It was a bad, horrible, hopeless idea.”

“It was,” Link agrees. “But it’s what you asked me for. It’s what _you_ wanted.” He lets bitterness and accusation tinge his voice until Rhett frowns. 

“You know,” he says, tugging on a lock of Link’s hair and then brushing it behind his ear, “that’s what I kept tellin’ myself. I thought…I _think_ it might be best. For you. For your family. But you don’t want that. You don’t want to be without me.” Link opens his mouth to say something mean and Rhett shushes him with the pad of his thumb on Link’s lower lip. “It’s okay. I don’t want to be without you, either. I ran through all the scenarios in my head, Link. All the terrible things I would do to keep you. I thought, what if we kept it a secret? What if we did what we did before, sneaking around and skulking and hiding out where no one could find us? Or what if we ran away together? What if we got married in Vegas and pretended nothing in our lives was real before then? What if I kissed you and you let me, without anything holding you back? I can taste that, you know. The panic you feel every time I kiss you. It’s not something I would wish on anyone, tasting regret and guilt and pain in every kiss they give the one they love. It’s almost as bad as having pieces of them…the tiny pieces they’re willing to give away…and knowing there is nothing you can do to have every piece.” 

“I’ve never held back in kissing you, Rhett,” Link replies, the only thing he heard the most painful part: Rhett thinks Link never handed over all he could. But he did, he did over and over, and he looks up at Rhett and wants to prove it. So he does. He surges up on his toes and wraps one hand around the back of Rhett’s neck, guiding him down, desperate for the press of his lips. When he finds it, when Rhett parts his lips, Link kisses him with enough fervor to make Rhett quake. His knees unlock, his hands going for Link’s hips to keep him steady. Rhett kisses him back. He groans, taking Link with him as his back hits the wall of Link’s temporary prison. Link stumbles with him. It’s a messy, ragged sort of kiss, the kind that offers the promise of more, but the last time came and went and this is all Link can give. This is it; this is everything. Rhett takes it, hands sliding down, and he pulls Link close. 

This is all Link can give. But more than anything he wants to give more. 

Breathing hard through his nose Link keeps Rhett backed against the wall. It’s the only way to guarantee he will stay; it’s the only way to keep him here. Rhett hardly behaves like a man looking for the exit, his hands in the back pockets of Link’s jeans and his tongue tracing Link’s lips. This is nothing. This is no betrayal on Link’s part; this is no broken promise. This is kissing, this is showing love, but this is nothing like the moments he and Rhett shared last year. This is affection, adoration, endless, frantic worship. This is Link and this is Rhett, never once getting it right. 

Link’s breath hitches as Rhett groans against his lips. 

But this is nothing and this is okay; this is Link doing all he can to stay above water. If Rhett is going to stand at his side and help him tread the choppy seas, what the hell is wrong with that? It’s too much, asking Link to live without Rhett. It’s too much, asking Link to give up the other half of a life he lived well. So maybe he and Rhett have a lot to learn about who they are alone. But why start now? They had time. They lost it. Rhett said so himself. Now, Link does all he can to try and get some of it back. 

Rhett breaks the kiss to press softer, tender kisses to Link’s forehead, breathing in deep at his hairline and kissing him again. Link has his arms wrapped around Rhett’s middle, craning his neck to look up at him, and Rhett meets his lips with a whimper. It shakes Link to the bone. Rhett is never the one to crack, to make small noises of defeat, of giving in. But Link made him cry, Link made him run, and now with their mouths crashing urgently together Link makes him whimper. 

Link is about to do something terrible like grab Rhett by the front of his shirt and drag him to bed when someone knocks on Link’s door. With their hands all over each other, too close and getting closer, Rhett and Link freeze. 

“Who…?” Rhett begins, but his question is answered before he finishes asking it. Link’s wife calls his name through the door. 

“Link?” Christy says. “Are you here?” 

(He should be quiet; he should feign his absence. He should hide.)

Link has not seen his wife in days, the divorce moving slowly as Link spends his days locked in his hotel room. Christy should not be here. But she is. Link sees his horror reflected in Rhett’s wide eyes as they stare at one another, open mouthed and frozen. Rhett’s mouth is red from the burn of Link’s beard and he must look no better, thoroughly kissed and touched and loved. The last thing he should do is open the door. But Rhett is already pushing him, gentle, towards the door, Link’s desperate, “No, no, no,” going ignored. 

“I’m here,” Rhett says, as if his presence makes anything better. “Talk to her. I’m here.” 

“You’re not here,” Link orders. “Hide.”

“Link, she musta seen my car…”

“Hide,” he says anyway, desperate. “She’ll get the wrong idea, Rhett, you hafta hide.” Link goes to push Rhett towards the bathroom, thoughts of escape chasing each other in loops around his head. He’s going to lose his kids; he is going to lose Rhett. He is going to lose everything. Rhett looks at him with wide eyes and takes a step back that has him pressed against the wall. 

“We were doin’ exactly what she’ll think we were doing,” Rhett says coolly. “She’s not stupid.”

“Link?” Christy asks at the same time Link cries, “ _Rhett_!” Stubborn and sullen, Rhett crosses his arms and refuses to budge. 

“I’m here,” he says. “And I’m not gonna hide.” 

“I _hate_ you,” Link snarls. In reply Rhett all but bites back. 

“I know,” he says instead, bristling behind the calmness in his eyes. If they had more time this would turn into a fight; if they had more time they would end it throwing one another on the bed. But they don’t and there is no time at all and Link has to answer the door. Link whirls from Rhett and says Christy’s name, his wife waiting on the other side. 

“Link!” she replies, relief in her voice. “Let me in. I wanna talk to you.” With one last look back at Rhett he pulls open the door. Christy looks the same as always, lovely and dainty and small. She smiles when she catches sight of him but immediately it falls. “Jeez, you look terrible,” she says. Link nods. 

“I know,” he says. He can’t help but add, “Banishment to a hotel room does that to people.” She frowns and he’s sorry. Just not sorry enough to take it back. He’s angry, too, bitter and scared out of his mind. He has every right to be as angry as her. Doesn’t he? Christy comes inside, Link closing the door behind her, and as she sidesteps him to get into the room she sees the only person who could make her frown deepen more than Link. 

“Rhett,” she says. It takes more willpower than Link has to turn around and watch them lock eyes. Instead he busies himself with cleaning up, picking stray shirts and socks up off the floor where he has spent the past week throwing them. “What are you doing here?” Link’s wife asks of Rhett, nothing in her voice but resignation. 

Rhett pauses and so does Link, sure for a horrifying moment Rhett is going to tell the truth. But by some miracle, despite the anger Link hurled his way, Rhett spares him. 

“I was just payin’ a visit, Christy,” Rhett says. Link ducks his head and scoops a T-shirt off the floor, draping it over the desk against the wall. No one tries to make him speak. No one pays him any mind at all. Even so he can feel eyes on him, one pair or two, and he refuses to look up. He refuses. 

“Can you do me a favor and get out?” Christy asks, and Link clenches his jaw to keep from crying out in pain. He and Rhett aren’t finished; he and Rhett have a lot to say to one another. They have a lot to fight about. 

“Chris…”

“Let me talk to my husband,” Christy orders, and Rhett quiets. Link chances a glance up towards Rhett and their eyes lock, Rhett’s jaw held just as tightly as Link’s. The tension in his body is palpable, his shoulders squared. Link wears the same expression enough to know: Rhett has no intention of leaving. But as Link looks at him he softens, face going blank, body slack. Once again the fight leaves him and once again it is done by Link’s hand. 

“Okay,” he says. He makes no move to fight and Link wants desperately for him to try. He loves Link more than anything, doesn’t he? Where is the part of him who would do anything to stay at his side? Link watches him lope across the room and so does his wife. Once Rhett has passed them by Link is left to lock eyes with her. She looks away first. And Link follows suit. Rhett pauses by the door, the look on his face indicating prayer. He wants Link to call him back. He wants Link to make him stay. But he has to know he can’t. His wife is here to talk and Link is not going to get a second chance at keeping his family. He has to take this.

Even so Rhett is slow as he goes for the door, his eyes down towards the floor. (How many more times can Link hurt him before he calls for the end?)

“Rhett,” Link says. With the door half open, Rhett waits. “Thank you. For visiting me. I appreciate it. You’re…just. Thank you.” With a world of things left unsaid Rhett nods, trying to read between the lines. He finds what he searches for in Link’s face ( _I love you, I love you, I love you_ ) and makes a face, his mouth turning down. He gives an almost imperceptible nod, steels himself, and just like that he is gone. The door closes. Silence falls. And Christy and Link are alone. 

“You think I don’t know what he’s really doin’ here,” Christy says. Link looks away from the bleak beige of the front door and looks at her. 

“What do you want me to say?” Link replies. He should lie. He’s not stupid, either, despite what Christy might think of him. But he’s tired. He feels sick, slow, and he can’t give her anything more. 

“I just want you to tell the truth for once,” Christy says. “Is that so hard?” She pulls open her purse, digging into it and coming out with a sheath of papers. “I just came to give these to you,” she says. Link reaches for them, hand outstretched, and she pulls it away. “It’s custody papers,” she says. Her hand shakes as she holds onto them just out of Link’s reach. He could step forward and take them. But he doesn’t. He watches her as she thinks, as she blinks, as she comes to a conclusion. “You get two nights a week,” she says. “If you sign them now. If I let you sign them now.”

“What?” 

“Link, they miss you. And I hate it. It’s not fair to them to keep them from you. Do you think I don’t know that? But, God, they have no idea what you did to me. I can’t tell them. I won’t. But they have no idea why their daddy isn’t home and why he won’t ever be part of their family again.” Link finds himself dropping his eyes to the floor in a hopeless attempt to save himself from her quiet fury. “Look at me!” she screams, and all quietness seeps away. Link obeys. She breathes heavy, papers in her hand, and never has anyone looked at Link with such hateful eyes. She loved him. She did; he remembers. But the young girl who married him isn’t here anymore. The young girl who loved him with her whole heart is long gone and so is the young man who held her close and kissed her on her parents’ porch. 

“Go on,” Link says when Christy does nothing. “Gimme all you got.” 

Instead she sags against the wall. The papers in her hand hit the floor with a thump that makes Link’s heart jump in his chest. He looks at them instead of at Christy until she speaks again. “I’m keeping my word,” she says. “So help me, I’m not gonna be just as bad as you. I don’t lie. I told you what would happen if…”

“We weren’t…” Link tries.

“Shut up! He was here, Link!” She takes a step forward, closing the gap between them, close enough to kiss. She looks too small like this, like someone Link should cherish and cradle and love. He used to, didn’t he? “He was here and he’s written all over your face!” He opens his mouth to tell her there was nothing, they did nothing wrong, she’s being irrational and unfair and cruel, but she moves first. She slaps him, right across the face, her wedding band smarting on his cheek. He keeps his stinging face turned away from her long after she withdraws, fighting her ring off her finger. “God knows why I’ve kept this thing on. God knows why I’ve kept on hopin’ maybe this was a dream.” Christy tears her ring off and drops it to the carpet, stepping over it as she steps away. “I thought you would do better by them,” she says, speaking of their children, the children she intends to keep from him as long as she can. “They miss you. And y’know what? They can keep on missing you.”

“I’ll tell them myself,” Link says before he can think, before his face has stopped stinging from the blow by Christy’s tiny hand. 

“Go ahead!” Christy shouts, arms spread out wide. “Go ahead! See if I care! You’ve lost it, Link, and I’m not giving you any more shots at this. You’re done. I’m done. Don’t worry, Link. You still have him. Obviously.” She sneers and for the first time Link hates her. It isn’t fair to him to hate him for this, for making all the wrong choices. She chooses wrong, too. Anger twists her face and he lets himself be just as angry, just as wronged, just as lost. 

“You can’t do this to me,” Link says despite everything in her face that tells him otherwise. 

“You make me fucking sick,” Christy replies. (Link can still feel the heat of Rhett’s mouth on him and maybe this he deserves.) “You cheated on me, you lied about it, and you’re lying now. You’re such a jerk, Link, and I don’t have to put up with it. I’m not as gone for you as he is. As you want me to be. You can’t keep jerkin’ me around anymore. You don’t have that power over me. I won’t let you have it ever again.” 

“I never had any power over you,” Link says, and the admission does nothing to soften her. 

“No,” she agrees. Stomping over the papers on the floor she makes her way towards the door. And Link watches her walk away with all promise of the family he is going to lose. “You’re such a _jerk_ , Link,” she says with her back to the door. Her use of the same words as Rhett is not lost on Link. He’s a jerk. He knows. He’s worse than that and he receives far lighter words than he deserves. “Nothing is the same without you, you know,” she says. “It’s horrible living without you there. I miss you every second. But unlike Rhett, I have self-respect. I won’t be used by you anymore. You can fuck him up all you want. But not me. Not our kids.”

“Christy.” 

“You shut the hell up, Link!” she says. She has her hands balled up and Link’s face hurts, the weight of her ring leaving a hot spot on his cheek. She has fire in her eyes and Link’s heart hurts. “Go to hell,” Christy says. “I came to try and give you _everything_ I could. Good to know you haven’t learned a goddamn thing.” She rips open the door and before Link can unstick his throat to give back half of what she gives she is gone.

Link spends the next few hours ripping into the papers she left him, tearing them to shreds. He makes a mess of the mess he created, tossing paper over his shoulder as he kneels in the middle of the floor. He finds Christy’s ring in the carpet and he stares at it, holding it flat in his palm. When he gave it to her he thought he would get to keep her for the rest of his life. It makes his stomach turn to look at it. He ignores a fleeting order from the bitter part of his brain to flush it down the toilet, to throw it out the window, to melt it or bury it or give it away to the first stranger he sees. Instead of doing any of it he pockets the gleaming ring. It burns a hole in him but he keeps it there as he rips anew into the papers under his hands. 

His phone rings and it’s Rhett, of course it’s Rhett, and Christy is right. Rhett has no self-respect. He lets himself get hurt and he lets Link do it to him over and over. He asks for it; he loves Link and he loves to keep him close and he loves to let Link get to him. And Link won’t allow it anymore. He ignores the first call and the second. He ignores the third. He ignores the text, the second text, the third. Only when his phone vibrates for the fourth time and he runs out of paper to rip to shreds does he go for his phone.

_I love you_ , the first text reads. _Please don’t ignore me_ , the second one says. _Let me help_ , the third reads. And finally, the fourth text typed by Rhett’s hand: _I meant every word I said in that song. I never meant for you to read it. But I’m damn glad you did. Maybe you should read it again._

Link wants to. But he can’t find it. In the new mess he’s made, in the piles of shredded papers, the song written for him is gone. He mourns for a moment amongst a pile of ruined, useless documents and then he tears them up anew. It helps the smallest fraction to have control over this, over the chaos of his prison. It changes nothing to fight, to shout, to coat the room in floating, feather light pieces of paper. But fighting and shouting and throwing things is what he does. 

Rhett texts him one more time. _I’m sorry._

Whatever he is sorry for, Link is, too. To this message he replies with the truth. _Me too_. And that is all the invitation Rhett needs. He returns, he slips into the room, and he meets Link under the covers in his bed. The tears on his cheeks have long dried but Rhett touches one cheek anyway, pressing fingers to the fresh bruise under Link’s eye. He knows what happened without asking. He kisses the bruise and it hurts all over again but Link does not tell him so. He needs the pressure of Rhett’s lips more than he needs anything. 

The fight leaves the both of them for the time being. And Link lets Rhett envelop him in his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Here](http://missingparentheses.tumblr.com/post/147811651622/rhetts-love-song-to-link-from-the-heart-rendingly) you will find a beautiful, lovely rendition of Rhett's song by the beautiful, lovely [missingparentheses](http://archiveofourown.org/users/missingparentheses/pseuds/missingparentheses)
> 
> It's perfect and I would highly recommend giving it a listen as you read. <3


	15. So Much Closer Than I Have Ever Known

Rhett keeps an overnight bag in Link’s motel room. He buys a toothbrush and a tube of toothpaste and leaves them on the tiny bathroom counter. His shoes stay by the door and his guitar by the bed, out of tune and disused. Link does not mention the song he lost in a mountain of papers despite every bone in his body aching to hear it. For his part, Rhett has nothing to say about it, either. He simply picks up the mess Link made bit by bit and he tosses the shredded papers into garbage bags, shoving them out of sight under the little desk by the door. Rhett has nothing to say about it but he makes a home in Link’s room. And Link allows it. It’s strange, larger than the college dorm room they shared but twice as stark. It’s strange, living side by side with Rhett again. 

It’s strange but Link could get used to it.

They brush their teeth side by side, Rhett giving Link little hip checks as he bobs, humming a tune. Rhett hums to time himself, two neat little minutes spent singing to himself before he spits in the sink and continues with his day. Link missed moments like watching Rhett swish mouthwash. He missed moments like the ones they share hunched over the little desk, desperate to come up with anything good they could bring into the world. Rhett itches to put something out, to create, but Link’s heart simply is not in it. He’s tired and Rhett understands. Even so, he sings to himself more and more as the days pass, coming up with melodies that make Link’s heart sing. Link wonders which melody is his, which song belongs to him. But he doesn’t have to wonder for long. Rhett lets the words pass his lips five days after the song was lost. 

“You are mine,” Rhett sings as he straightens up the room in mindless motion. “You are mine, you are mine.” It’s a slow song, then, a soft and sweet romantic lullaby. Link finds himself transfixed as Rhett sings, unaware or uncaring that Link listens. 

“Nice little tune,” Link says, unable to stop himself before he says it. Rhett looks up, sheepish, a blush creeping up his cheeks. He opens his mouth but Link puts a hand up to quiet him. “Will I ever get to hear it?” 

“No,” Rhett says too quickly, changing his mind halfway through it and grimacing. “Maybe. I told you. I didn’t mean for you to read it. It was…” He pauses, examining the carpet in the space between them, and he closes it in two strides. Link sits on the edge of his bed, their bed, the bed they share with scant inches between them. And Rhett sits down at his side. He does something he has hardly ever done and rests his head on Link’s shoulder. Link does his best to keep from stiffening under the unexpected need to lend support. For once he can be the one. “It was me tryin’ to make sense of all the things I couldn’t say to you,” Rhett finishes. He stills, hot against Link, the two of them pressed close shoulder to hip. 

“You coulda said it,” Link tells him. 

“No,” Rhett replies. “If I told you in that hotel room how pretty you looked just starin’ at the moon? You woulda hated me for telling you that.” Link can hardly argue. If Rhett had shown him then the words that graced the page he would have been afraid. Because Rhett puts too much faith in him. There is enough hope in Rhett to set the world ablaze with it, enough hope for the both of them. And more than anything Link wants him to keep it. It’s easy to take Rhett’s hand in both his own and press Rhett’s knuckles to his lips. It’s easier to kiss them, one after the other, Rhett watching him with wonder in his eyes. (It’s a gaze Link will never get tired of receiving.) 

Link would happily accept a lifetime of Rhett watching him in wonder.

He only lets himself think it for a moment, the thought of a future far out of grasp bubbling to the surface. It’s easy to shut it down and it’s easier to focus on the immediacy of Rhett pressing a kiss to Link’s shoulder. 

“I was thinkin’,” Rhett says, voice muffled by his lips pressed to Link’s T-shirt. 

“Yeah?” Link replies. For a moment, Rhett says nothing. And then he draws in a breath, scaring the hell out of Link, something weighing heavy on his mind. 

“How long are you gonna be staying here, Link?” he asks, ending the question with another kiss. “Holed up where the world can’t get to you?”

“You can get to me,” Link counters, and Rhett shakes his head. 

“You know,” Rhett says, “they miss us.”

“They?”

“The Mythical Beasts.”

“Ah.” And it feels like a punch, like a slap, to think of all the people they let down by disappearing. Add a few million people to the list of those Link hurt by hurting Rhett. Link swallows, throat tight, and when Rhett speaks again he sounds like he suffers from the same problem.

“I was thinking,” Rhett says again. “And I was thinking we should give it another try.”

“Give what another try, Rhett?” Link snaps. He doesn’t mean to but God, it’s painful, the riot he feels breaking out in his chest at the thought of trying again. They gave it up. They gave it all up. And to ask for it back, to ask for forgiveness? Link doubts he has it in him. 

“We could live together, Link,” Rhett says, an offer pressed into Link’s hands like it’s not the biggest thing Rhett has ever asked of him. “We could start writing again and we could put something out. Something small, like a promissory note. I dunno. I was just thinking, Link, how I hate seeing you cooped up in here. And I miss it, working with you. And you living here, all alone...”

“You’re here,” Link points out. Rhett bites at his shoulder, a gentle bearing down of his teeth, and Link quiets. 

“I know,” Rhett says. “But what if we moved together? My life is in storage, Link, while the divorce gets worked out. And look at this…this crazy tornado of a life you’ve got in this room.” He spreads his hand out for effect, showing Link all the glorious things that are his: the desk, the dusty phone, the mess of clothes on the floor, the DO NOT DISTURB sign hanging on the door. Link hangs his head. In reply Rhett lifts his, wrapping one arm around Link’s shoulders and holding him close. He kisses the side of Link’s head and tells Link he loves him, murmuring close to Link’s ear. “Did I scare you again?” he asks. 

“Always,” Link replies. It’s easy to throw his arms around Rhett’s middle and easier to kiss him. He ignores Rhett’s attempt to talk to him, to work something out, to make sense of all the hiding and the waiting and the panic that builds a wall between them. Rhett tries again, he always tries again, pulling away from the kisses Link trails down the hollow of his throat. 

“Link, please don’t tell me you’re planning to hide away forever,” Rhett says. Link ignores him. He straddles Rhett’s lap, hands on Rhett’s face, kissing him until he stops trying to talk about the future. Why does he always want to talk about the _future_? Right now Link needs him, he needs him desperately, and it’s a long, dreadful moment before Rhett gives up and gives in. He nips his way into Link’s mouth and this is better than trying to make something out of the mess they left behind. There will be time for that, for trying to build something out of a pile of ash, but it’s not now. Link is far from ready; he is far from stable and Rhett has to know. Rhett sees it every day. It’s too much to ask of Link, to put himself back out into the world, and for the moment Rhett lets this be enough. Link is grateful as he kisses Rhett’s cheeks, back and forth, right and left, until Rhett begins to laugh. He pulls back just enough to see the glimmer in Rhett’s eyes, the mischievous smile, and then Link kisses him again. 

There is time for going back. There is time for trying again. It’s just not now. Not yet. There is a mountain in the way, a landslide threatening to knock the two of them back down the way they came. There is a mountain in the way and no way to climb it. All they can do is wait at the bottom, staring at the peak. Rhett is ready to try; he says it with every kiss he returns to Link with equal fervor. But Link has never felt less ready in his life. 

As Rhett tells Link again how hopelessly he loves him, Link kisses him and tells Rhett he knows. And for now, the love that never went away has to be enough. For now, it’s all they have. 

 

Days pass before Rhett tries again to talk to Link about a day beyond the one they live. He does it while Link shuffles through the new papers that were sent to him through the mail. Christy is no longer interested in delivering divorce papers herself and Link can’t blame her. His head is fuzzy and it’s hard to focus on the words, dozens of pages swimming before Link’s eyes. He feels like dropping his head to his little desk and sleeping, giving up for the day on making sense of all the legal words he has to look up online. There’s a cup of coffee on his desk, delivered to him by Rhett along with a kiss on the top of the head, and Link almost topples it over across his stack of papers. Swearing, he shakes coffee from his fingertips. And Rhett slips into the room, returning from a run to the grocery store with shaving cream and soap in his hands. He has been complaining for days that the motel soap is drying out his skin and Link opens his mouth to sardonically congratulate Rhett on finally getting his own. But Rhett shushes him. 

“Link,” he says, shutting the door behind him and dropping his grocery bag on the carpet. 

“Rhett,” Link replies. He shoves the papers under his hands across the desk and out of his way to place his coffee cup directly under his nose. Rhett looks breathless, excited, hair mussed and his cheeks pink from the breeze outside. “What?” Link asks when Rhett says nothing. In two strides Rhett is at his side, dropping to his knees in front of Link, pressing in between Link’s knees. “Rhett, what the…?” he asks. 

“Shh,” Rhett replies. “I have an idea.”

“Don’t tell me,” Link replies, far too tired to deal with a crazy scheme cooked up by an overexcited Rhett. 

“I saw a house for sale on my drive,” Rhett persists anyway, heedless, hands balled up into fists on Link’s knees. Link looks down at him and can’t help but reach out. As exhausted as Link is, he can’t deny himself the feel of Rhett’s cheek beneath his fingertips. As Link brushes a thumb across Rhett’s cheekbone, Rhett beams. Encouraged, he goes on. “And it was so perfect, Link. It’s far enough outside the city to be nice and quiet, and it’s small. It’s this beautiful little ranch, far from where our families live but not too far we couldn’t visit…” 

“Stop,” Link says. He pinches Rhett’s cheek but it only makes Rhett brighter, more excited. It isn’t like Link’s family will be looking forward to a visit from him anytime soon if anytime at all. Link has not seen his children in ages, in _weeks_ , and it makes him feel sick to think about. He misses them and he has half a mind most mornings to drive home, to snatch them up, to hold them and refuse to let go. But he’s not stupid. He knows one wrong move from him could ruin everything. With Christy desperate to keep her hold on the kids, to have control, it’s all Link can hope for to expect a single visit a week. Without much hope for anything more, Link tries his best to quash the thoughts of going home and running away with his children. He tries to quash the thoughts of running away at all. He can’t do that anymore. He won’t. All he does now is hide, is wait, like he sits on the tip of a knife that could slice him in two. 

Rhett goes on.

“What if we did it, Link?” Rhett asks. “What if we went for it? What if we bought a house and moved all our stuff in, together? What if we started all over again, recording behind a card table in the garage? What if we built it back from the ground up and we got back the life we’ve always wanted?”

“We had that,” Link says, “and we lost it. We deserved to lose it.” Not for a second does Rhett’s face fall. Undeterred, he squeezes Link’s knees and keeps painting his picture. 

“Link, what if we got _married_? What if we had our own home, a place we could always be alone together? What if we never had to be apart again?”

“Rhett!” Link scolds, like he chastises an excited child, but all Rhett does is laugh. 

“Oh, Link, lemme dream, will you?” he asks. “Please let me dream! I want it, Link, and I’ve wanted it for so long. What if you want it, too, huh? What then?” He looks up at Link, questions in his eyes, all the questions he has been waiting years for Link to answer. But now is not the time. Now is never the time; the time is far off in the future, far away from this, when all the dust has settled. Link will know he is at the right moment when he sees it. He is sure of it. But Rhett looks at him with such surety, such hopefulness, and Rhett can’t hurt anymore. He said it himself. Rhett can’t keep getting hurt by Link and his inability to be the person he ought to be. (How many more chances is Link going to get to see the sun rise and set in the way Rhett looks at him?) 

“I want it,” Link says. And there is one. Rhett lights up, bright and alive, and his fingers tighten on Link’s knees. He wants to build a life with Rhett; he does. More and more every day the picture Rhett paints looks like the life Link wants to live. He has refrained from saying it and he knows it’s time he stops doing that, shutting Rhett out and locking himself up. If it’s not time to look toward the horizon it can at least be time to start doing right by Rhett. “Rhett, I want it.” Link cups the side of Rhett’s neck in one hand, Rhett’s pulse thrumming beneath his palm. “But what if I can’t give it to you?” He starts his own game of _what if?_ , the same old game he keeps on playing, Rhett somber under his hand. “What if you wait forever, Rhett, and I can’t give you anything you want? What then? What if we get old before I’m ready for you? What will you do then?” 

“We won’t,” Rhett replies. Sure. He is always sure above everything else, above reason and the things Link lets out of his mouth. He is sure above logic and experience and thirty-three years of knowing the decisions Link will make before he makes them. How the hell is he so _sure_? “You read it,” Rhett says. “Your song. I told you right there, baby. I’m done believing you when you say you gotta leave. Okay?”

“No, Rhett, I…”

“I believe in you,” Rhett says. “And I shouldn’t have said that, what I said before. That you mistreat me. Because you don’t. You don’t mistreat me at all. You mistreat yourself. And _that_ I can’t let you keep doing.” 

“Rhett.” Rhett is wrong. He’s dead wrong, assuring Link he does nothing wrong himself. 

“What?” 

“What the hell are you seeing in me right now that makes you so damn sure?” He doesn’t mean to ask so bluntly, frustration darkening his voice. But he lets it out and Rhett’s eyes widen, sparkling in the meager light coming in through the window behind him. For a beat Rhett does nothing. And then he stands. His back creaks as he rises, a grimace marring his face, but it smooths out as he holds both hands out for Link to take. “What…?” Link begins. But one look into Rhett’s face and he, too, is sure. It goes away as quickly as it came but not before Link takes the hands offered to him. Rhett pulls him to his feet, holding tight to Link’s hands, and he pulls Link towards the door. “Rhett, where…?”

“Come with me,” Rhett says. “Just come.” Link has to pause by the door to slip into his sneakers, the laces undone, and he steps on them and almost trips on his way out. Laughing, brilliant, Rhett catches him around the waist and sets him back on his feet. “Come on!” Rhett says. And Link does. He follows Rhett to his car and he stops trying to ask questions, sure if _sure_ is what Rhett wants him to be. 

Rhett drives.

He drives fast and he drives grinning from ear to ear, taking Link away from the four walls that have kept him caged for weeks. It feels good and then it feels great, Link rolling down his window to stick one hand out into the open air. Wind whips through his hair, shoving it over his face, and with his free hand he pushes it back. 

“Get a haircut!” Rhett laughs, and miraculously Link laughs with him. Something about the unexpected breath of open air makes Link’s heart race; being out of his beige and off white room is exhilarating beyond measure. With the motel at his back Link begins to feel better, first by inches and then by miles. The weight on his chest lessens, just a bit, just enough to allow him to breathe. He draws in the first good breaths he’s drawn in weeks, taking in the city air like it’s the best thing he’s ever going to breathe again. 

It just might be. 

“Where are we going?” Link shouts over the sound of the world passing them by. He watches Rhett, leaning back in his seat with one hand on the wheel and the other out his window, perfectly at ease. 

“You’ll see soon!” he replies. Link wants to ask again but he knows Rhett; Rhett is going to keep his secret as long as he can. Link can let him. It’s enough to sit at Rhett’s side, feelin freer than he ever thought he would feel again. The pressure is still there but out here he can bite it back; on the open highway it can’t touch him. Of that, at least, he is sure. Link lets the highway roll away far behind him. Not once does he look back. Rhett guides the car down the road, looking at Link far too often, and Link finds himself grinning every time Rhett catches himself staring. 

“Stop lookin’ at me,” Link says, feeling giddy with Rhett’s eyes on him. He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose to try and cover up the smile on his face. It doesn’t work. Rhett sees. 

“You like when I look at you,” Rhett replies. “Don’t think I don’t know that, babe.” Link revels in the sound of Rhett’s voice claiming Link as his own. It never gets old, not ever. No matter how many times Rhett calls Link his in any way at all, Link’s heart soars. He tries not to let it show but his face always betrays his emotions. He can’t hide from Rhett. For the first time in weeks, he doesn’t much want to. 

Rhett takes Link to the beach. He drives to the place where they stood together last year. He takes Link to the place where they waded into the sea on the day they kissed for the first time. He takes Link to the beach and he parks the car, leaving it running to look at Link. For his part Link stares open mouthed at the sea. Rhett laughs, tapping Link on the underside of his chin to get him to shut his mouth. 

“See, Link?” he says. “It’s the same. You and me are all that’s changed. And it’s never gonna change here, not ever.”

“The ocean will erode the beach away eventually,” Link says, making Rhett’s rumbling laughter bubble up anew. 

“Not until we’re long gone, honey,” Rhett assures him. “Whaddya say? Wanna go in?” Link hardly needs to be asked twice. He hops out of the car and kicks off his shoes, leaving them on the hood of Rhett’s car. And Rhett follows him. The air is warm, warm enough at least to keep Link from shivering as he makes his way across the sand. But the water is frigid, icy as it rushes over Link’s bare feet, and Rhett is there to steady him as his teeth begin to chatter. 

“Why here?” Link asks. In the evening sun Rhett glows in oranges and red. He’s breathtaking, something beautiful Link can’t believe he gets to see. And more than that he gets to touch, to wrap one hand around Rhett’s bicep to keep himself steady in the rolling sea. He gets to hear Rhett laugh, to watch Rhett smile, and something warm hits Link in the chest as Rhett beams. Maybe this is what hope feels like. It sure feels nice to Link, the heat radiating from every part of him Rhett touches. If it’s not hope it’s something close to it, something close enough to warm the pieces of Link the sea freezes. Something close enough to make Link’s chest hurt, heat building in him from his heart outwards. If Rhett sees the cataclysm shaking Link to the core he does not tell Link so. All he does is look away from Link and out into the sea, empty of people this close to sunset and this close to winter. Link looks with him. 

Here they stood, not knowing anything, and here they stand now, knowing even less. If Link was told back then what would happen if he kissed Rhett, would he be standing here now? Something tells him he would have run away. But a bigger part of him balks at the idea, screaming, crying out in pain, and maybe he would have changed a few things. Maybe he would have been smarter. But if the outcome was the same, if he still got to stand beside Rhett in the sea? He would have still kissed Rhett. He still would have kissed him a thousand times over. Still, he would have been sure.

And maybe he is sure now. 

“Rhett,” Link says. Even around the single syllable of Rhett’s name he stammers, quaking in the Pacific. 

“Yeah?” Rhett asks. 

“I think I’m gonna try and use the rest of my life to make up to you every horrible thing I’ve done.” 

Rhett pauses. And then, “You don’t have anything to make up for, Link.”

“Even so,” Link says even though he does. He does and Rhett protects him, even now. But he doesn’t need Rhett’s protection anymore. “Even so I’m gonna try. I’m gonna give you everything you’ve ever wanted.” He can hardly promise it; even as it passes his lips he wants to take it back. But God, Rhett is beautiful by the sea. He is Link’s beautiful boy, the man he has loved in more ways than he can count for more years than he can fathom. He is Link’s, at this moment and far off into the future Link can hardly see. The future he can hardly promise. But it’s there, a glimmer of hope, and as Rhett gasps aloud Link latches onto it. “I am,” he says. “We can try again. We can buy a house. We can live together and we can get old in LA, if that’s what you want. We can get married. If that’s what you want. You deserve so much more than I can give you, Rhett. But that’s not gonna stop me from trying.” 

“Link, you…”

“Don’t try to tell me I don’t have to say all that. I _want_ to say it. I shoulda said it a long time ago. But I’m sayin’ it now, Rhett, and I love you. If you’re sure, if I’m what you want…”

“You are,” Rhett says.

Link looks out at the rolling sea to keep from looking into Rhett’s earnest eyes. “Okay,” Link says. He pauses, waiting, and he is not surprised in the least to feel Rhett pulling away from the grasp Link has on his arm. He is not surprised by Rhett renewing contact, Rhett’s hand slipping into his. He _is_ surprised, however, by Rhett using his other hand to turn Link’s cheek. Rhett makes Link look at him, tilting Link’s chin up, and Link fights back a wave of horror at the sight of tears in Rhett’s eyes. “Rhett, what…?”

“I’ve been waitin’ a lifetime for you, Link,” Rhett says. 

“I’m sorry,” Link replies. 

“Don’t be,” Rhett says, fingertips shaky under Link’s chin. He gives Link the same look he always gives: he can’t believe Link is his. It has always been too much, Link unable to give the stars and the moons Rhett sees in him. But maybe it’s about time he tries. 

“What’re you looking for?” Link asks as Rhett watches him, motionless except the wide eyes roving over Link’s face. 

“I’m lookin’ for a sign that you might change your mind,” Rhett replies. Link can’t blame him for that. “A sign that you might run away again.” 

“Rhett, would you believe me if I told you I don’t plan on runnin’ anymore?” 

“No,” Rhett replies, rueful, a smidgen of truth hidden behind the teasing. “But you can say it anyway. If you say it enough I might.” 

Instead of saying anything at all Link rises up in the sea, up on his toes to kiss Rhett hard on the mouth. Rhett reacts like he has been waiting all his life for this, too. He wraps both arms around Link, the two of them nearly toppling into the gentle waves. Rhett has to right them, laughing against Link’s lips, beatific and beaming in the sea. And nothing is different in the ocean, in the water, under the sky. But everything is different in the way Rhett holds tight to Link. The tension is gone. The desperation and the fear go with it, replaced with nothing at all. Link struggles to find something missing, something wrong, and when he comes up empty handed he squeezes Rhett so tight he squawks in pain and pulls away. 

“’M sorry,” Link says, Rhett shaking his head to ward off Link’s apology. 

“Don’t worry,” Rhett replies. For once, for the first time, Link might listen. 

 

They take their time when they get back to Link’s room. Rhett is slow, patient as he helps Link out of his clothes. First it’s Link’s belt, hitting the floor with a clank, and then it’s his glasses, Rhett gentle as he takes them off and places them on the nightstand. Link’s shirt goes next, Rhett pulling it over his head and dropping it to the floor. Rhett takes his time, hands on either side of Link’s head on the bed, knees straddling Link’s thighs. He kisses his way down from Link’s throat, down his chest, down to the button of his jeans. Link strains, far less patient than Rhett, but Link has given him something new. Link has given him a sure vision of the future. He has given Rhett a future they can share. To Rhett they have all the time in the world; it’s evident in every slow, exploratory kiss Rhett presses to every piece of Link he can. 

“Shh,” Rhett says as Link mewls, jeans too tight and Rhett’s mouth too good. “Just wait.” With no other choice, Link does. He waits as Rhett undoes the button of his jeans only to surge back up to Link’s lips. “I love you,” Rhett says. 

“Love you, too,” Link replies, hands on Rhett’s back, following the undulation of his shoulder blades as he goes back to kissing the hollow of Link’s throat. Rhett is slow as he drags his own shirt over his head, kicking off his jeans and leaving Link breathless. Desperate for the heat of Rhett’s skin, Link pulls him close, Rhett smiling against Link’s lips as they kiss. Despite the lack of urgency Link’s heart thrums, close to bursting, a new feeling budding in his chest. It’s not fear and it’s not ire; it’s warmth and it’s hope. Link has not let himself feel it in so long he struggles to place it at first, his head fuzzy with it. It’s relief, it’s the light at the end of the tunnel, the one Rhett could not see until Link showed him. It’s obvious now, it’s close enough to taste, and Link chases it with his hands along the curve of Rhett’s spine. 

Rhett hooks his fingers into the waistband of Link’s underwear and all thought leaves him, his hips rising up off the bed. Rhett follows him, mouth hot on Link’s stomach as he frees Link from his underwear. “God, I can’t believe…” Rhett breathes, Link tangling his hand up in Rhett’s hair. 

“Me neither,” Link replies. He doesn’t need to hear the tail end of the thought on Rhett’s lips to echo what he was going to say. “I can’t believe you’re mine, either, baby.” At the term of endearment, slipping from Link as easily as Rhett’s name, Rhett smiles against the swell of Link’s hip. 

“Baby,” Rhett teases. 

“Yeah, you big baby,” Link teases back.

“Shuddup.” Rhett, all the time in the world belonging to him, pauses in his exploration of Link’s body to rest his cheek on Link’s belly. “I love you,” he says. Tentative, gentle, he trails his fingers across Link’s hip until he wiggles away, a giddy laugh escaping him. With one hand still buried in Rhett’s hair Link swats at Rhett’s hand with the other. 

“You’re gonna get real tired of saying that,” Link says, watching Rhett dance careful fingers on his skin. 

“Never,” Rhett counters. “Not ever in all my life.” 

“Are you…?”

“I’m sure.” And just like that, Link hears the truth. It’s in the quiet rumbling of Rhett’s voice, in the graceful motion of his hand. And just like that, Link is sure, too. 

“Okay,” Link says. “Okay.”

 

Rhett leaves Link alone for a day to spend it with his boys. He kisses Link silly as he gets ready to leave, assuring Link over and over he is going to come back soon. 

“Are you sure you don’t wanna come?” Rhett asks, gathering Link up in his arms by the door. 

“No, no,” Link replies. “You need time away from me. Tell them I say hello.” 

Rhett frowns. “Link, I’ve spent almost every moment with you my whole life. Dontcha think if I wanted some time alone I woulda gotten it by now?” He kisses Link to prove his point, his body pressed flush to Link’s, holding on for dear life. Rhett’s mouth makes Link’s head spin but he tries to come up with a semi-coherent reply. 

“You hid from me in the desert,” Link says in the end, and Rhett’s deepening frown tells him it was the wrong thing to say. But Rhett’s smile returns with a shake of his head, Rhett gifting Link one final kiss on the mouth. 

“I thought it would be easier for you if I did some running,” Rhett says when he pulls away. There’s a crick in Link’s neck from looking up at Rhett for the better part of the past few weeks. It only serves to remind him of how lucky he is to have such a pain, such an old creaky neck in an old creaky body. At least Rhett is much the same, his back cracking and popping as Link squeezes him. 

“You were wrong,” Link tells him. 

“Took you chasing me to figure that out,” Rhett replies. After that he pulls away, waving goodbye, Link pulling him back by the forearm for one more kiss. Rhett looks dazed as Link drops back down to his heels, releasing his hold on the back of Rhett’s neck. 

“What?” Link asks. “Weren’t you about to go somewhere?” 

“Yeah,” Rhett says, brow furrowed. “I just…”

“What?”

Rhett takes Link’s face in his hands, leaning down to press his forehead to Link’s. “I just feel like I’m seeing you for the first time since you let me back into your life.” Link has him spellbound, eyes sparkling and wide, and Link has no idea what to do to break the spell. So instead he lets Rhett brush his hair back, searching for something, and when Rhett finds it he smiles. “There you are,” he says, satisfied, and Link doesn’t ask what it is he sees. It’s something good, for once, and that is all Link needs to know. 

“Yeah, and I’m stayin’ here,” Link says. The admission makes Rhett’s eyes crinkle up in the corners as he beams. And the smile is all Link can ask for. He lets Rhett leave, Link sets him free, and Link flops down into his bed and stares up at the ceiling. Alone his brain catches up with him, twisting his stomach and digging claws into his chest. ( _And then, when we’ve fixed everything we’ve broken, then you’re gonna let yourself feel worthy of love._ ) They have not fixed a thing, have they? Every piece of Link’s life is still broken, his children and his wife and her wedding ring shoved into the pocket of his jeans. His life is scattered, in boxes, in Rhett’s hands. What part of this is fixed? 

_Stop_. Link orders his brain into silence. If he thinks he is going to panic and the smile on Rhett’s face is something he simply is not willing to lose again. _Get ahold of yourself_. He deserves goodness, doesn’t he? Doesn’t he deserve to be loved, to be loved by Rhett? He has not always been the person he is right now, after all, and the person who stood by Rhett through everything deserves to be loved just as much as anyone. 

Link tells himself so but still his brain whirs, telling him in bursts and gasps that he is going to lose his grip on all the good things he has managed to have and to hold. 

He dozes off, one arm flung over his face, and he is ripped from uneasy dreams by a tapping on the door. Link is on his feet in a split second, blood leaving his head and leaving him with spots across his vision. Without giving himself time to waver he makes his way to the door to let inside whoever it is who knocks. But with one hand on the door he pauses, lip between his teeth, images of his wife here to give him all the horrible things she has left to sling going through his head. Then the person on the other side of the door knocks again, a timid little knock accompanied by a timid little voice. 

“Dad?” 

“Lily,” Link breathes, and in the next moment he has the door open and his daughter in his arms. 

“Oh, Daddy,” Lily says, her face buried in the front of Link’s T-shirt. “I missed you so, so much.” Instead of crying, instead of dropping to his knees and holding her face in his hands, Link picks up his daughter who is far too old to be carried and brings her inside. She sniffles, overwhelmed, a spitting image of her mother, and Link shuts the door. 

“Lily, what are you doing here?” Link asks. He brings her a tissue from the box in the bathroom and sits her down on his bed, heart aching for the sight of her. 

“I’m sleepin’ over my friend’s house tonight,” Lily says, taking the tissue and wiping at her eyes. “Mom doesn’t want me to see you. But I had my friend’s mom drive me…she’s waiting in the car…and oh, Daddy, I just wanted to see you for a _second_. I saw the address in Mom’s phone and I just…I just…” She gives up, wiping again at her eyes. “You’re not mad at me, are you?”

“Mad?” Link asks. “No, no, Lily, I’m not mad.” He could cry, he could kiss her until she stopped letting him. “I’m so happy to see you.”

“Me too,” she replies. She gives him a watery smile, his little girl not looking so little as she fixes him with a look that speaks volumes. 

“I missed you,” Link tells her. She nods, hair falling over her face, and Link leans close to brush it back behind her ear. 

“I gotta go,” she says. “I told them I would just be a second.” She looks up at Link, eyes red, and before she can say anything else Link wraps his arms around her. She’s so small, shaky in Link’s arms, and she gives an embarrassed little laugh as Link kisses the top of her head. “I’m gonna get in trouble if I keep them waiting,” she says. Link lets her go. She gets up and Link’s heart hurts, his throat tightening around all the things he wants to ask her (how are the boys, how’s Christy, how’s the dog, how’s the floorboard in the living room that always creaks?). Lily gets to the door, tissue clenched in her fist, before she turns back to face Link. “I just thought you should know,” she says, leaning on the door, “that we still love you. I’m really, really sorry Mom might not anymore. But we do. Okay? Don’t forget about us.” Her chin starts to tremble and then she’s back in Link’s arms, Link on his knees to hold her. She shivers and shakes and he kisses her, not saying anything instead of saying what he should. It isn’t until she sniffles, taking a steadying breath, that he manages. 

“I won’t ever,” he tells her. “Don’t worry about that.” It’s hard, his voice shaking as hard as his daughter’s. But he manages. “No matter what happens, I won’t ever.” 

“Okay,” Lily says, pulling away. Link wipes the tears from her cheeks with his thumb like he has done a million times before over scraped up hands and injustices in the form of time-outs. 

“Thank you, Lily,” he says. “For coming to see me.” He means it more than he can tell her but she nods, cheeks pink and hair in her face. 

“I just want you to be happy, Daddy,” she says, looking him hard in the eye. “And Mom. Okay?”

“Okay,” Link replies. And then, “We’ll do our best.” He does not tell her how much it means, the love she and his boys still have for him. The message is one that makes him feel weak with relief: what he has done has not caused the end of the world. It has not even caused the end of his world; his children love him and they want him to be there, to be theirs. And Link is going to give everything he has to make sure he manages it. 

“I love you,” Lily says, opening the door and standing with her back to the parking lot. Link looks over her shoulder to see a car he recognizes, one he has seen in his driveway before. He can’t remember the friend’s name but he waves, telling Lily not to blame them if she gets caught sneaking out to see him. “I’m not stupid, Dad,” she says, and Link is grateful to find the shake in her voice gone. She hugs him, tiny and everything Link has missed, and she waggles her fingers at him as she dances away. “I’ll come back when I can, okay?” she says, voice rising in volume as she gets farther away across the lot. 

Instead of telling her not to, Link tells her that sounds good to him. 

As she gets into the car with her friend and closes the door behind her, Link’s heart soars up into his throat. For the first time in longer than he can remember the tears pressing at his eyes are from something other than despair. He’s happy, blissful, closing himself back into the room that feels a little bit less like a prison and a little more like a home. 

When Rhett returns Link is on his computer, looking up homes he and Rhett could inhabit together. Rhett leans over him, kissing Link behind the ear and then propping his chin on Link’s shoulder. 

“Think we can find a place we both like?” Rhett teases, breath warm in Link’s ear.

“Here’s hoping,” Link replies. _Here’s hoping._


	16. Sweet Uncertainty

As days pass and the world does not implode around Link he lets himself keep the hope he borrowed from Rhett. They sit together, Link and the man he loves, poring over homes they could make their own. Link sits in Rhett’s lap as they browse, dreaming up a future they never thought they could have. If Rhett clings too tight to Link to keep him in place, it’s all right by Link. He can’t believe this is real, either. Link feels too good to be certain. After weeks of unease, months of it, a year, to think the worst might be behind him is to sink into perfect peace. 

It isn’t perfect; it’s far from it. But Link begins to think they might just make it there. 

Rhett cradles Link in his lap as they peer into the tiny screen of Rhett’s phone, Rhett holding it before Link’s face. There is a house Link keeps going back to, checking the listing every day, hardly daring to be hopeful a place so special could be his. It’s a small place but a nice one, a single story house painted forest green. There is a porch swing beside the front door and a fenced in backyard, a stone patio shaded by a massive oak tree. Link can’t help himself when he imagines Rhett, his Rhett, sitting under the tree with his guitar in his lap, strumming nonsense and singing it, too. It’s too pretty of a picture to ignore. 

“You really like this one,” Rhett breathes, chin propped on Link’s shoulder from behind. 

“I do,” Link replies. He goes through the pictures for the fourteenth time, certain he could recreate them from memory by now. 

“Do you want it?” Rhett asks. Link takes Rhett’s phone from him to get a better look, swiping through the pictures of the house and stopping at the one he likes best. It’s a picture of the tree in the backyard and only the tree, from the perspective of someone standing at the base of the trunk. It’s a silly picture to include, useless in terms of selling anyone on the house, but Link points to the picture and tells Rhett to look. 

“What do you see there, bo?” Link asks softly instead of answering Rhett’s question. 

In reply Rhett says, “Home.” And that is good enough for Link. 

“Yeah,” he says. He is surprised by the wistfulness in his own voice but he likes the way it sounds. “Yeah, I want it.” 

Nuzzling into the hollow of Link’s throat, Rhett hums into his skin. “Then it’s yours.” 

“You can’t promise me that,” Link says, passing Rhett back his phone and shifting in his arms. 

“I can,” Rhett replies. “Anything you want for the rest of your life is yours, Link.” 

“Oh, stop.” Link turns sideways in Rhett’s lap to wrap his arms around Rhett’s neck, kissing him gently on the corner of his mouth. Rhett’s hands are all over Link, first at his hips and then his shoulders, his ribs and then his hair. 

“I mean it,” Rhett replies, mouthing at Link’s throat. “Anything.”

“Hmm,” Link says, lacing his fingers at the back of Rhett’s neck and lolling his head to give Rhett better access to his throat. Link tries to think but comes up with nothing, nothing at all he could want for besides Rhett’s lips on him. “Just you,” he says, and Rhett pauses in his exploration of Link’s neck. 

“Just me,” Rhett says. 

“Yeah. Is it that hard to believe you can’t give me anything I want more than this?” 

“More than…?” 

“More than you holdin’ me. More than you loving me. Touching me.” Link winds his fingers into Rhett’s hair and tugs, gently, Rhett breathing hotly against his throat. 

“So you’re telling me you’d be satisfied with having nothin’ but me the rest of your life.” The deadpan husk in Rhett’s voice brings Link back from the space inside his head dedicated to sweet nothings. 

“Maybe there’s a few more things I’d need,” Link replies. His voice shakes, just a touch, enough to make Rhett lean closer and kiss his throat. 

“It’s okay,” Rhett says. “You can have all of them.” It’s an empty promise but Link keeps his hold on it. Rhett cannot promise a thing besides himself; he cannot promise Link his family. The only thing keeping Link from falling headfirst into a life with Rhett at his side is the anxiety that keeps him awake at night. The same anxiety has him pacing the room, Rhett watching him without saying a word, only offering comfort when Link falls into his arms. Rhett anticipates Link’s need to be held before Link feels it, a warm pair if hands waiting for Link every time he feels he might come apart. It’s an arrangement that makes Link ill at ease; why the hell does he let himself be coddled? He hates the weakness he keeps finding in himself, the inability to keep himself together. Rhett hardly seems to mind, no pause between Link burying his head in his hands and Rhett opening up his arms for Link to lean into. 

Link runs out of ways to tell Rhett how deeply he appreciates each and every touch but Rhett gets the picture. 

Feeling sick and lightheaded, Link presses his forehead into Rhett’s throat and keeps it there. Rhett runs his hands through Link’s hair, carding it back, playing with the strands at the back of Link’s neck. “Link,” Rhett breathes, and Link grunts to signal he is listening. “I know you don’t believe in fate.” 

“No,” Link agrees. 

“But I do,” Rhett says. And it’s a silly thing to believe in, fate of all things causing all of this, but there is sincerity in Rhett’s voice that Link doesn’t want to take away. So he listens. “And I think everything is gonna work out. You have to trust it, that’s all. You’re gonna get everything you ever wanted, Link. And you’re gonna be whole. You’re gonna be happy. I’m gonna do my best to be a part of that happiness.”

“You already are,” Link interrupts. 

“Good,” Rhett replies. 

“Good.”

After that they don’t talk for a while, Rhett standing up and giving Link no choice but to cling to him for dear life. Rhett carries Link to bed and sets him down, climbing in on top of him. Link opens his mouth to tell Rhett for the millionth time to be careful of his back, for God’s sake, but Rhett hushes him with a kiss. Link gives up quickly on the idea of trying to speak. He lets himself be kissed and he lets himself kiss back, hands in Rhett’s hair. Rhett is slow and careful, stopping just short of resting all his weight on Link. He is careful until Link asks him not to be. With Rhett’s weight on top of him he feels safer than he does without it. No words pass between them but Rhett understands. 

He knows Link inside and out and the thought is twice as comforting as the hot press of Rhett’s body through two layers of cotton and denim. 

_Keep me safe_ , Link asks with his grip on the back of Rhett’s neck. 

_I will_ , Rhett replies with his lips on Link’s jaw. 

_Thank you, thank you, thank you._

_Anything for you._

As much as it scares Link to see the sentiment in every move Rhett makes, he quits asking Rhett to stop saying it. The more times he hears it, the fervor of Rhett’s _anything for you_ , the less it makes his heart plummet. He is allowed to accept promises from Rhett; he is allowed to accept love and tender words and hopeful, dizzying kisses. Regardless of what else happens, regardless of the things that hang in the balance, Link is allowed to be loved. (Isn’t he?) As always, Rhett sees the tenseness in Link before he reveals it, pulling away from Rhett’s mouth. 

“Shh,” Rhett breathes, forehead pressed to Link’s. “Honey, hush.” 

And Link does. 

 

Later, tangled up together in stark white sheets as afternoon sun turns the room gold, Link lies curled up with his head on Rhett’s chest. Idly Rhett runs his fingers up and down Link’s bicep, head turned to the side to keep his mouth close to Link’s forehead. There is sweat drying on Rhett’s skin and his chest is flushed as his breathing slows. Rhett’s heart thrums and Link splays his hand out to press his palm over it. _This heart is mine_. Link startles himself with the thought and tries to bury it away, stuffing it deep into his own heart to keep for a better time. He has time to say it- later, later, later. He will say it, he will. Just not now. Instead of saying anything on his mind Link plays with the fine hair on Rhett’s chest, making him squirm. 

“Stop that,” Rhett says, voice sleepy and slow. He catches Link’s hand and holds it still, grip soft and skin hot. He is on the verge of falling asleep; Link hears it in the downward lilt of his voice. 

“Stay with me a little longer, Rhett,” Link asks of him, and Rhett chuckles. 

“’M right here,” he says. 

“Stay awake,” Link amends. “Please.”

“Okay,” Rhett replies. His breathing evens out anyway and Link lets him sleep. It’s nice, lying cradled against Rhett’s chest, and as Rhett dozes Link nuzzles closer. He burrows into the bed, pulling the sheets up close to his chin and closing his eyes. With one hand over Rhett’s heart, his hand held fast in Rhett’s, it’s almost too easy to forget the rest of the world exists. It’s too easy to pretend nothing is real but Rhett and his hands and his body and his voice. It’s dangerous, feigning ignorance, but Link is allowed small moments. This moment is too good to pass up, to cut short, to end. Rhett snores lightly and Link loves him; he is going to stay here under Rhett’s arm for as long as he can. And for the rest of his life he is going to seek moments like this, moments that keep him warm, and he is going to do his best to give Rhett moments that are just as good. 

What else can he do?

Rhett shifts in his sleep at the same time as his phone goes off on the nightstand, skittering across the wood. Link reaches over Rhett’s body to grab for it, unwilling to lose this moment by waking Rhett with a text. Christy’s name is on the screen and Link has the text open before he can think. 

_I talked to Jessie today_ , the text reads. And in Link’s hand the phone shimmies again. _Can I ask you one question?_

Link peeks at Rhett to find him still sleeping soundly, breathing light. It’s too easy to imagine deleting the texts before Rhett can see them, before he can reply. Link even starts to type himself, stupid thoughts of answering as Rhett as fleeting as the thought of waking him. Instead Link forces himself to pause, to reach back over across Rhett and to put the phone back on the nightstand. On his way back under the covers Link leaves a soft, lingering kiss on Rhett’s forehead. In his sleep, Rhett smiles. 

Whatever it is Christy wants to ask of Rhett, it can wait. Link wants this to himself; he wants Rhett to himself for a while longer. It’s not too much to ask, a little more time with Rhett, and Link tells himself so as he throws the sheets over his head. The world is not going to end if Rhett sees the text. The world is not going to end if he answers, no matter what the question may be. 

Before he can convince himself to follow Rhett into sleep, his phone vibrates again. Link is up and out of bed in the next second, tucking the covers around Rhett and scooping the phone up. Naked and chilly out of the warm bed, Link sits at his little desk and bounces the phone in his hand. It takes him a few breaths to look down and read it. 

_Did he love me, Rhett?_ Link’s wife asks. _Or was it always only you?_ One more time, the phone vibrates, Link’s heart in his throat. _Please tell me the truth._

Link swallows to keep down the desire to scream. She knows he loves her, has always loved her, always will love her. She has to know. She can’t be asking now, of all times, of all days. She has to know how desperately he loved her when he married her and how desperately he loves her now, despite every word and threat and insult she has slung. Link shakes as he sits at his desk, elbows on his knees and head bowed over Rhett’s phone. Rhett wakes up to find him trembling, sitting alone. 

“Link, what’re you doin’?” he asks, tired, and Link has no time to put the phone away, to fake innocence, to pretend he did not see. Instead of trying he rises, passing the phone into Rhett’s hands and tumbling back down into the bed. Link settles on his side beside Rhett, fists tucked up under his chin, watching Rhett’s face as he reads. His face is open, lip caught between his teeth, eyes flying over the phone screen. When Rhett finishes he sighs, dropping the phone into the sheets between them and looking hard at Link. 

“She thinks I didn’t love her,” Link says, “not ever. What’m I supposed to do about that?” His chin trembles before he can stop it and Rhett stills it, pinching at the point with his thumb and forefinger. 

“She knows you love her,” Rhett replies, guiding Link’s chin up to make him look back when he tries to look away. “Trust me, she knows.”

“Would Jessie tell her I didn’t…?”

“No, never,” Rhett replies.

“Then why…?”

“She’s scared, Link,” Rhett says. “Jessie is, too. It’s good they’re talking, Link. That means they’re thinking. That’s our girls, always figuring things out. You’ll see. They’re gonna work everything out.”

“How?” 

“Oh, Link,” Rhett says instead of answering the question, wrapping his arms around Link and pulling him close. “I’m gonna tell her the truth,” Rhett says, lips in Link’s hair.

“What’re you gonna say?”

“That you love her more than life itself.”

“Oh.”

“It’s the truth.” Without making it a question Rhett waits for an answer, and Link gives him one.

“Yes.”

“Then that’s what I’ll say.” 

Link holds his breath as Rhett searches for his phone in the sheets, finding it under Link’s hip. Link inhales as Rhett types, lying on his back with the phone held over his head. 

“Don’t drop it on your face,” Link says, prodding Rhett in the ribs until he laughs, wiggling away from the contact. The attempt to ease the fear tightening his chest is fruitless but Rhett’s smile makes Link feel like he can breathe again. That, at least, he can do. 

“ _Link told me to tell you that girls are gross and he is joining an all-boys club_ ,” Rhett says, typing away and teasing Link about what he says. 

“Don’t,” Link says. 

“ _He also told me to tell you he wants that sweater back. You know, the one with his initials monogrammed on the front._ ”

“You’re such an ass.”

“ _Oh, and P.S._ ,” Rhett says, laughing, cheeks balled up from the grin plastered on his face, “ _He thinks you’re a cool girl and all but you’re just not his type. He’s more into men and_ …ow!” Rhett cries out as Link snatches the phone from his hand, tossing it away without looking at what he really typed. Heart hammering hard enough to hurt, Link lunges for Rhett’s wrists and pins him to the bed. With his arms over his head and his cheeks flushed, Rhett is the prettiest thing Link has ever seen. Even so, Link wants to hit him for the relentless teasing when teasing is the last thing he needs. “What?” Rhett asks, writhing under Link’s hips as Link straddles him. 

“You’re an ass.”

“’M just trying to make you laugh,” Rhett says, the devilish grin on his face too much for Link. He wants to wipe it off. 

“Yeah?” Link asks. “Well, I just wanna make _you_ laugh.” Without warning, without giving Rhett a chance to beg for mercy, Link lets go of his wrists and digs his fingers into Rhett’s ribs. Crying out in laughter, fighting against Link’s hands, Rhett tosses his head back and laughs up at the ceiling. 

“No, no!” Rhett says, hands closing over Link’s wrists. “No, I’m sorry! Stop!” Link laughs without meaning to, Rhett’s giggling contagious. Rhett laughs too hard to fight back like he wants to and Link overpowers him, tickling him just under his ribs. 

“Are you done bein’ a jerk?” Link asks, and with tears in his eyes Rhett nods. “D’ya promise?”

“Yes!” Rhett says, his hands vices around Link’s wrists. “Just stop before I die!” 

“It’d serve you right for teasing me,” Link says, but even so he sits back on his haunches and eases up, letting Rhett catch his breath. Link may never be ready to tell him so but Rhett is beautiful as he wipes tears from the corners of his eyes. He laughs, coming down, cheeks red and chest twitching from trying to cut the laughter off. Link keeps his hands on Rhett’s ribs as they heave. 

“I’m sorry,” Rhett says. “I just wanna see you smile.” 

“There’re a million ways you coulda done it besides being a jerk, Rhett,” Link replies, getting one final dig with his fingertips into Rhett’s ribs. 

“I know,” Rhett says. Eyes open, wet and red, Rhett nods. “I’m sorry. I really am.”

“I know,” Link replies. They look at one another for a beat, Link’s breath catching in his throat as Rhett stares up at him. With his hands still locked around Link’s wrists, Rhett watches him. “What?” Link asks. 

“She’s going to be fine, you know,” Rhett says. 

“I know,” Link says again. 

“They all will. The girls. The kids. You know that, right?” 

“Yeah,” Link says, lying through his teeth. “Of course.” 

“We didn’t ruin everything,” Rhett says. And then, “You know that. Right?”

“Yes,” Link says. Rhett is never the one to take a lighthearted moment away and Link grows frustrated, trying to bask in the glow of Rhett’s laughter. 

“Link, you’re the best person I know,” Rhett says.

“Rhett…”

“You know that.” He pauses. “Right?” 

“I know you think I am,” Link replies. “I know you’re crazy and I know you love me.”

“I’m crazy for loving you?” Rhett asks. He looks up at Link, face soft and cheeks pink, and Link loves him, too. 

“Yeah,” Link says. In return Rhett gifts Link a smile. 

“If you say so,” Rhett says. 

“I do.” 

“C’mere,” Rhett says, and Link lets himself fall into Rhett’s chest. He lies on top of Rhett, pressed flush against him, skin to skin. Crushed beneath Link Rhett begins to laugh again, shaking Link with it, wrapping both arms around him. “You’re heavy,” Rhett laughs, pretending to gasp for air as he slides his hands down the slope of Link’s back. 

“Shuddup,” Link says. “Not as heavy as you.” 

“Good point.” Rhett’s hands rove down and cup Link’s ass, squeezing. 

“What did you really say to her?” Link asks as Rhett’s hands explore. 

“I told her I was sorry,” Rhett replies. 

“Sorry?” Link asks. “God, for what?” 

“For loving you so much it coulda killed me.” 

“Oh, Rhett…” 

“And I told her not to ask me what I thought. I told her to ask you.” As if on cue Link’s phone blips from across the room, somewhere on the floor. Link lifts his head and Rhett meets his gaze. “Go talk to her,” Rhett says. “I’ll still be here when you get back.” 

Link goes. He gets off the bed, already mourning the loss of Rhett’s hands on him, shaking his head at how ridiculous the mourning is. It takes Link a while to find his phone in the mess of clothes on the floor and when he does he drops back into the chair at his desk with the phone in both hands. He can feel Rhett’s eyes on him and he does not mind; he goes as far as meeting Rhett’s eyes before losing his nerve and looking away. It’s a simple task, opening the text and reading it. Link just needs a moment, that’s all. Rhett is patient, waiting for Link to return, and Link shivers in his chair and orders himself to unlock his phone. 

_Can we talk?_ Christy asks. _Now? Alone?_

Rhett is still watching when Link raises his eyes, a question on Rhett’s face. “I gotta go,” Link says, and he is up and searching for clean clothes before Rhett can reply. He needs to go to the laundromat, the floor covered in clothes Link has worn two or three times without washing, but he ignores the part of his brain that screams at him to look good, to at least look human. All he wants right now is to see his wife and spill forth everything he has been keeping down for weeks ( _I love you, I’ve always loved you, I’m always gonna love you. How the hell can you say I don’t love you?!_ ). 

Rhett spares Link from his frantic search for clothes and gets out of bed, crouches down on one knee, and locks his hands over Link’s wrists. “Stop,” he says. “Lemme help.” 

Link kneels on the floor as Rhett rises, finding exactly what it is he looks for and handing it to Link. “This one is clean,” Rhett says, Link taking the blue Henley from him and dragging it over his head. It hurts his neck too much to look at Rhett from this angle so instead Link looks at the floor and takes the things passed into his hands. “’M gonna take the laundry while you’re gone,” Rhett says. “Sorry I let it go for so long.”

“Not your fault,” Link replies. Already he can feel the serenity of his oasis fading, the real world coming back into focus. It hurts his chest and it hurts his head to remember this part of his life is not his to take yet. He has to fix the things he broke before he can claim it. Among those things is his wife, the person he promised to do right by for the rest of his life, and he has to give it a try. For his family, for the woman who holds a jagged piece of his heart, he has to try. 

“Link,” Rhett says as Link stands, ears ringing as the blood leaves his head. Rhett is there to catch him by the elbow when he sways. 

“Yeah?” Link asks. He doesn’t look at Rhett as he hunts down his shoes. 

“She’s been talkin’ to Jessie, Link,” Rhett says. “Jessie knows her better than almost anyone.”

“Yeah?” Link snaps. “Where the hell are my…?” 

Rhett points out Link’s sneakers, half concealed under Link’s denim jacket. 

“Thank you,” Link says, and Rhett goes on, chasing Link around the room with his eyes. Link can feel Rhett looking at him without checking to see if he is right. 

“Jessie will have helped set her head back on straight,” Rhett says, and Link fights back the urge to scream. Instead he rolls his eyes, sure Rhett sees. 

“Yeah,” Link says, plunking down in his desk chair to tie his shoes. “She knows everything, Jessie does. She’s so wise, isn’t she? She knows my wife better than I do, after all. I’m sure Christy will welcome me with open fuckin’ arms.” 

For a moment Rhett is quiet. Link is sorry, always sorry for something, and his clumsy, shaky fingers struggle with the laces of his sneakers. When Rhett speaks his voice is soft, far softer than Link expected. “Don’t fight me,” Rhett says. “Please, Link, don’t fight me. I didn’t mean to say Christy isn’t in the right with the way she…”

“Don’t talk about her anymore,” Link orders. He snarls as his laces knot, something as simple as tying his shoes beyond his grasp as anger makes his heart race. “She’s my wife. I don’t wanna hear how yours fixed her. She doesn’t need to be fixed. I do.” He doesn’t mean to fight but once he starts it’s hard to stop, anxiety making him angry as it builds up in his chest. 

“There’s nothin’ wrong with you, Link,” Rhett says, bristling. Finally, he reacts with something other than utter calm, and Link latches onto it. It’s what he does best, adding fuel to the fire. It’s what he always does. 

“Stop,” Link says. He gets his shoes tied by some miracle despite the quaking of his hands and he stands, Rhett watching him from where he stands beside the bed. “Why’re you pretending you know everything, Rhett?”

“I know everything about you,” Rhett replies. Like it’s the simplest thing in the world and Link simply cannot grasp it. Like it’s obvious, something Link doesn’t see. But he sees it. Rhett knows him better than Link knows himself. And he can’t escape it, no matter how hard he tries. 

“Then what’m I gonna do next, then, huh?” Link asks. With wide eyes and a tensed up jaw, Rhett watches him. 

“You’re gonna say somethin’ horrible to me, you’re gonna try and hurt me, and then you’re gonna say you’re sorry and you’re gonna come over here and kiss me.”

Link stares at Rhett, anger leaving him, hands uncurling from tight fists. Rhett looks back. He waits for the inevitable, for Link to fight back, for Link to yell and panic and scream. But maybe, for once, Link can do something that will surprise him. 

Link closes the distance between them, Rhett’s mouth falling open as Link nears him, and Link does it. He catches Rhett by surprise. Link throws his arms around Rhett’s neck, dragging him down, Rhett bowing his head to keep the contact. Link kisses him, hard, tangling his hands up in Rhett’s hair. There. Good. Rhett is quiet, shocked into silence, and good. Link still has something in him he has yet to give. He has something new, something Rhett did not expect. It feels better than Link could have imagined to see Rhett gaping as Link sinks back down to his heels, pulling Rhett’s head down with him. 

“You know everything, huh?” Link says. He can feel the smirk on his face, the smug self-confidence he thought had left him for good. Having control of this, of his own worry and fear, is something he never thought he would have again. 

“Maybe not everything,” Rhett replies. He meets Link’s lips with his, smiling into the kiss, hands finding Link’s waist and holding tight. “Are you gonna give me time to learn?” Rhett asks. 

“All the time I have left,” Link replies, Rhett’s hold on him tightening. “All of it. It’s yours.” 

Only then does Rhett let him go. Never has Link bowed out of a brewing fight; never has he been the one to cut it short and say something sticky and sweet instead. Rhett looks dazed as Link backs away, making his way to the door backwards to watch Rhett for as long as he can. Rhett looks at him just as intently, lips parted and red from the bite of Link’s unkempt beard. 

“Sorry about your mouth,” Link says when his back hits the door of his motel room. Brow furrowing, Rhett raises a hand to press his fingertips to his lower lip. 

“It’s okay,” Rhett says. 

“I guess you know how I’ve always felt, now,” Link says, “kissin’ you. Hurts, doesn’t it?” 

“Yeah,” Rhett replies, drawing his lip into his mouth, frowning. 

“But you want that. Forever.”

“Yeah,” Rhett says again. The frown eases, eyes brightening, and Rhett smiles as Link fumbles for the doorknob at his back. “Yeah, I do.” 

“It’s too bad we had an empire and burned it to the ground,” Link says. “You could really use some of my lip balm.” 

With a roll of his eyes and a click of his tongue, Rhett shakes his head and grapples with a smile. “You’re something,” he says. And then, “I’d like to build it back up with you, you know. Whenever you’re ready. I’ll be willing.” He shrugs, one hand at the back of his neck as Link has one foot out the door. Like always, like ever, Link wants nothing more than to shut the door and go back to pretending this life is the only life he has. But he has somewhere to be, a different set of eyes to meet, and he has to go. Rhett looks so close to forlorn as Link steps outside he almost goes through with it. He almost decides to forget it, to stay, to lock the door and draw the curtains. But Link’s daughter was here, looking for the father who left her behind, and that person is the last person Link wants to be. 

“Okay,” Link says. “When I’m ready. Until then…”

“You gotta go.”

“Yeah.”

“It’s okay, Link,” Rhett says, crossing his arms over his chest, urging Link to go. “It really is. I’ll survive till you get back, bo. Trust me.”

“You sure?” 

“No,” Rhett says, and before Link can stop himself he leaves the door wide open, throwing his arms around Rhett’s neck. Heedless of his creaking back Rhett picks Link up, pressing kisses to the shell of his ear as Link wraps his legs around Rhett’s waist. 

“Miss me,” Link orders. Rhett laughs, breath hot in his ear.

“Always.” 

“Pine for me every second.”

“Of course.”

“Think of nothing else but me until I make it back.”

“Nothing at all.” 

“Love me.” 

“Sure, Link, sure.”

“Thank you.” 

“Thank you?” Rhett looks up at Link, their noses brushing together, Rhett’s mouth quirked up into a strange little smile. “Thank you,” he says. “Thank you.”

“I didn’t do anything to deserve thanks,” Link replies, and Rhett sets him down carefully on the carpet. Link keeps his hold around Rhett’s neck until Rhett begins to grimace, one hand leaving Link’s waist and going for a creaky spine. “Did I hurt you?” Link asks. 

“Always,” Rhett replies, laughing it off. Link assures him he will make it better when he gets back; he will take all night to ease the pain in Rhett’s back. He can’t resist making a jab, telling Rhett how old he is, and Rhett shakes his head. “You’re not far behind.” Rhett tugs at a lock of Link’s hair and then slides his hand over Link’s jaw, pointing out gray hairs as he finds them.

“Oh, you’re the worst,” Link says, swatting Rhett’s hand away.

“Maybe,” Rhett replies. “But only ‘cause I learned from the best.” 

After that it’s easier to leave, the fight in Link extinguished before he got it fired up, and relief warms him all the way across the parking lot. He did better today. He does better every day than the day before. That has to count for something. Doesn’t it? 

From his sun-warmed car Link calls his wife and she answers the call. “Can I come see you?” Link asks. Tired and spent and sadder than Link has ever heard her, Christy tells him he can. 

“I’m at home,” she says, a shimmy to her voice Link knows well. “The kids are with Jess today. It’s just you and me, Link.” 

“Okay,” he says with no idea what else he can offer. “I’m coming now.” 

“Okay,” Link’s wife says, and with that she ends the call. Link spends a quiet minute fighting with himself, wiping his sweaty palms on his jeans. He has to go; he has to make this right. But there might not be a right anymore; there may well be no fixing it. It might be futile, trying to reach the end without losing a limb or a heart or a soul. Still, Link has no choice but to try. 

The drive home feels impossibly long, Link tapping away at the steering wheel and blinking tears of panic from his eyes. He wipes at them with his sleeve and almost loses his glasses when they topple off his face, getting lost in between his seat and the center console. He catches them and sets them on, shoving them up the sweaty bridge of his nose and sighing when his fingers leave marks on the glass. He’s used to it, the smudges across his vision, but still it only serves to irritate him when he has to take them off at the stoplight and wipe them clean. Rhett teases him for his dirty glasses but so does Christy. Just like Rhett knows where to kiss him when he’s had a hard day and so does Christy. They have too much in common and it makes Link’s chest hurt as he drives, coasting through the light blind when it turns green. He gets his glasses back on just in time to pass a cop who has no interest in him, Link watching the cruiser in his rearview mirror as long as he can see it, just in case. 

Nothing terrible happens on his way home to prove to him his life is unfixable. He doesn’t know if he should feel relieved or scared. 

The house looks the same as always but even so Link feels he might be struck down as he cuts the engine of his car and sits looking up at it. He doesn’t belong here; that much is clear. But Christy waits for him on the front porch, standing in the doorway, and Link goes to her. She looks the same as always, too: beautiful and small and like she could tear the world in two if that is what she wanted. Link has always known she has that kind of power in her. It’s obvious now as she waits with the door to her house open wide. 

“Hi,” she says when he gets close. 

“Hi,” he replies. And she is as beautiful as the day they met, the day Link decided he loved her. She is beautiful as ever, as pretty as she has been since she was young. Link tells himself nothing has changed in her just like nothing has changed on the outside. It makes it easier for him to look at her to think she will still be just as beautiful when she leaves him behind. 

“Come in,” Christy says, and Link goes. He follows her and she takes him to the kitchen, plunking down at the round little breakfast table and waiting for him to follow suit. She is so small in the big kitchen, her hair down and cascading over her shoulders, her black cardigan clinging to her frame. But her voice is far from small when she orders Link to sit, her mouth a hard line. Link sits. He chooses to sit across the table from her, lacing his hands on the wood scratched up from years of abuse by the kids. Link waits for his wife to speak. 

It takes her a long time but in the end she does. 

She drops one small hand from her chin to the table, sliding it across the wood. Link watches her fingers inch closer, fingernails bare, and he waits for her to make him hurt. But she doesn’t. She closes her hand over both of his on the table, closing her eyes for a long moment and opening them to lock them on Link. 

“I was wrong,” she says. Her chin quivers but only once; she sets her jaw hard after the first time and refuses to let it happen again. Fiercely, so deeply it aches, Link loves her. “I’ve been reworking things with my lawyer,” she says, squeezing Link’s hands. In reply he opens them, letting her hand fall between both of his, and he traps it there. She lets him. “And I’m sorry. I’m not gonna keep anything from you. Least of all the kids. I shouldn’t have…”

“You had every right.”

“Don’t interrupt me,” Christy says. She pinches at his palm, a touch that is almost playful, and Link quiets. “Or I might decide you’re right. God knows I’m having the worst time of tryin’ to decide where to draw the line.” Christy looks hard at Link, eyes narrow and voice low. “But I talked to Jessie, Link, and you wanna know what she told me?” 

“No,” Link says, and Christy clicks her tongue. “Yes,” he amends. 

“She told me she didn’t blame Rhett. She told me she loves him still, for the person he was their whole marriage. She told me she loves him as the father of her children, Link, and the way it made me feel to hear the deepness of the love in her voice…” Christy drops her gaze to hang her head, long blonde hair brushing the scuffed up table. “It made me feel like I wasn’t just doin’ wrong by you to take everything from you.” 

“Oh, Chris…”

“Please lemme finish.”

Link does. 

“And I started thinkin’, about all the good you’ve done for me, and for this family. About all the nice things we’ve done, all the things we’ve gotten to do. And it isn’t fair, Link, that we don’t get to have that anymore. But we can have something? Can’t we?” She doesn’t wait for an answer. “It isn’t fair to anyone to give all of that up. I know this is…God, this is fucked up.” Unabashed in the words she chooses, Christy sighs. “But I want the kids to be happy. And so help me, I want you to be happy, too. We’ve spent too long together…we’ve had too many happy years for me to wish anything but happiness for you, Link. You’ve made me so deliriously happy. The kids, too. And watching them miss you…it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Harder than missin’ you myself.”

“I’m sorry,” Link says when Christy goes still. He clutches her hand, lacing their fingers up and squeezing, and Christy squeezes back. And she did it on their wedding day, digging her nails into his skin for all the nerves wound up in her. And she does it now. Link lets her press marks into the back of his hand, watching her knuckles go white. 

“I don’t wanna hear _sorry_ from you anymore, Link,” Christy says. “Not ever again. You were the best part of me for so many years. And I think you can be something good to me again.” She locks eyes with him and this time she smiles. “You were the best person I ever knew. The best person I could have ever hoped to love. And I can’t forgive you for what you did. For how you handled things. But you have to forgive me for feeling that way.”

“Done,” Link replies. Christy’s smile twitches at one corner. 

“Y’know, I yelled my head off at Jessie when she first tried to talk to me,” Christy admits. It doesn’t surprise Link, not one bit, and she laughs when he tells her so. “I told her she thought she was so wise. And you said the same thing to me, Link, back before I…” Christy’s eyes are faraway, locked somewhere over Link’s shoulder, and when they find him again Christy shrugs. “Anyway, you said the same thing to me. And it reminded me how similar we are, you and I. And I thought…if you and…” Christy’s voice catches over Rhett’s name and Link waits for her to go on, her hand held tight in his. “I thought if you and Rhett can rebuild your lives from the wreckage of an explosion, so can I. When I apologized she was still there for me. Imagine that.” 

Link makes a mental note to tell Jessie he owes her the world. He owes her the world and more for everything she has done to mend the holes he left in two families. The holes he left in two beautiful girls and five children who deserve better. He won’t ever be able to repay Jessie for looking after him even now. But that will not stop him from trying. 

“Imagine that,” Link replies. 

Christy gets up after that and she sits in the chair beside Link, leaning her head on his shoulder. He wants to tell her he is sorry but now is not the time. All she wants from him right now is comfort, somewhere to rest her head while she cries. And she does; she cries on Link’s shoulder as he wraps an arm around her to hold her close. He tells her it’s all right, he’s here, he loves her, and maybe now is not the time to tell her so but he does anyway. He loves her and she has to know that; at the very least he can remind her he is not going anywhere. Christy sniffles but she does not fall apart. She never does, not the way Link does, and the swelling of pride he feels in his chest to call her his in any way is something he cherishes. 

In the end she gets ahold of herself, wiping her nose on the sleeve of her cardigan and laughing to herself, embarrassed. “Sorry,” she grumbles. She doesn’t make a move to leave, however, sitting under Link’s arm at the kitchen table. He tells her it’s okay. He tells her everything is okay. Her head on Link’s chest, Christy says, “You love me. Still.”

“Yes,” Link tells her. 

“Good,” she replies. “Then it was real.”

“Yes,” Link says again. 

“You gave me my family,” Christy says, trembling under Link’s arm. By habit he presses a kiss into her hair and by habit she leans into it. “And I thought you were taking it all away. That’s why I did what I did, Link. I just thought you should know.” 

“I know,” he says. 

“Where would we be now,” she says, “if you never…if you and Rhett didn’t…”

“I dunno,” Link replies. There were days he thought he would die for wanting Rhett, days he spent with his heart racing and his mind a jumbled mess. There were days he told himself he was crazy; Rhett would never look at him like he did his wife. And there were days they touched and Link’s chest ached, his body on fire, Rhett looking at him like he was crazy for blushing at the contact. If they didn’t…if Link had not kissed him? He would have let his love for Rhett kill him. And he would have dragged his whole family down with him. (Maybe it was better to end everything with a bang instead of letting his heart fizzle out and die.) Link doesn’t tell her any of that. Instead he kisses her again and tells her she could go crazy for imagining the way things could have been. He doesn’t tell her he needs to take his own advice and try not to think for a while. 

“I’m sorry I hurt you, Link,” Christy says, and Link tries not to let everything in his chest come to the surface. (He’s sorry; he’s the one who ruined everything, he’s the one who cheated, who lied, who destroyed everything.) He keeps it down. For now, with Christy shivering under his arm, Link keeps it down. All he does is hold her. He kisses her. And he tells her he is sorry, too.


	17. What's Sleeping In Our Soul

The house with the big oak tree is everything Link imagined. 

Rhett surprised him, plucking Link’s glasses off from behind while Link messed with his shaggy hair in front of the motel bathroom mirror. Link cried out in protest but before he could snatch his glasses back Rhett had a bandana over Link’s eyes. Laughing, breath in Link’s ear, Rhett tied the bandana at the back of Link’s head and got it tangled up in Link’s hair. 

“Hey, man, what the hell…?” Link snapped, crying out in pain as the knot pulled at his hair. Rhett kissed Link behind one ear and fixed the knot, apologizing with a quick series of gentle kisses that tickled. 

“I have something to show you,” Rhett said, and Link let Rhett lead him by the hand out to Rhett’s car. Rhett buckled him up despite Link complaining he could do it himself. “I know you can,” Rhett said, lips on Link’s cheek. “I just love…” He paused, drawing back, and Link reached out to find Rhett’s face. His fingers met Rhett’s cheek, Rhett nuzzling into the touch, and Link asked him to finish his thought. “I just love takin’ care of you,” Rhett said. Link went to lift his blindfold, craving a glimpse of Rhett’s face, but Rhett stilled him with a hand on top of Link’s. “I love you,” Rhett said. “Just let me show you how much.” 

Link sat with Rhett’s hand clasped in both his own, holding it in his lap. He played with Rhett’s fingers, Rhett pliant in his hands, and his head spun as Rhett drove too fast around corners. He had some ideas about where they were heading. Excitement made his stomach do somersaults as Rhett stopped the car, reaching around Link to undo the knot at the back of his makeshift blindfold. Link blinked, the world bright around him, as Rhett passed him his glasses. As he squinted into the sunlight Rhett waited patiently at his side. And when he saw it, the house he had been seeing in his dreams, his hand flew to his mouth. 

“Whaddya think?” Rhett asked, hand going for Link’s thigh. He squeezed, Link’s hand shaking as he lowered it to cover Rhett’s. 

“It’s perfect,” Link replied. And it was. It was small, the perfect size for two, a path of stones leading to the front porch. Link’s eyes landed on the porch swing, his fingers tightening over Rhett’s, and Rhett chuckled at his side. 

“Do you wanna go inside?” he asked. And Link did. He asked no questions about keys nor realtors, not caring one bit how Rhett was going to let him in. All he did was follow Rhett, stepping light on each stone leading the way, Rhett’s big, warm hand swallowing his. 

And inside the house is everything Link hoped it would be. The walls are different shades of serene blues and greens, the bedroom the color of Rhett’s eyes and the kitchen an ocean blue. The floor squeaks in the living room as Link crosses the room and he can feel Rhett’s eyes on him as he explores. Even so he spins in the living room, trying to look at everything at once, Rhett chuckling when Link loses his balance and has to grab for the wall. Link’s heart swells as he takes it all in, the creaky floor giving him the idea the house feels as old and as ready for quietness as he does.

When he’s seen it all, from the bathroom sink to the hall closet, Rhett catches up his hand and stills him. 

“Wanna see the tree?” Rhett asks, pulling Link close. 

Breathless, Link replies. “Yes.” 

Rhett leads Link outside, out into the backyard, out to the tree. It’s impossible to see all of it at once, the massive oak rising far up into the sky. From where Link stands it may as well go on forever, the branches dark against the bright and cloudless sky. Link shields his eyes to look up at it, squinting into the sun until Rhett asks him to look down. 

At the base of the tree rests Rhett’s guitar, leaning on the trunk like it belongs there. It takes Link a moment to move, to turn and face Rhett, to find Rhett beaming. 

“What…?” Link asks, perplexed, heart racing so fast it thrums. 

“I bought it,” Rhett says. “I bought the house, baby. It’s yours.” 

“No,” Link breathes. 

“Yes!” Rhett replies. 

“Rhett!”

“I know!”

“You can’t be…”

“I am!” 

“Oh! Oh, _Rhett_!” Before he can think, before he can weigh the pros and cons of accepting this as home, Link throws himself into Rhett’s arms. They close around him, Link’s face buried in Rhett’s chest, Rhett clutching Link to him so tight it hurts. Link does not try to say anything for a while; one more word and the knot in the back of his throat is going to rise and tears are going to fall. It’s too much, it’s too soon, but Rhett loves him and the realization that the worst may be behind them is enough to make Link’s heart sing. Hardly willing to believe it, barely keeping tears at bay, Link tightens his hold on Rhett as much as he dares. “You didn’t!” Link cries, his voice muffled by Rhett’s chest. “Rhett, you didn’t!”

“I did,” Rhett says. He kisses the top of Link’s head and then does it again, one soft press of his lips and then another. “Why don’t you believe me when I say everything you want and more is yours?” For that, Link has no answer. Link clings to Rhett in the middle of the backyard (in the middle of _their_ backyard) and only when Rhett tells him for the thousandth time how deeply he loves him does Link let himself cry. It’s small at first, one hiccup and then two, but Rhett holds him tight and it swells like a tidal wave. Link sniffles, Rhett’s hands all over him, and Rhett murmurs, “Hey, don’t cry.” 

Telling Link there is no reason to cry opens the floodgates. 

He chokes on his tears, Rhett rubbing his back in slow circles, leaving lingering kisses in his hair. It’s harder to stop than Link expects it to be and tears darken the front of Rhett’s T-shirt as Link cries. 

“It’s okay, baby,” Rhett says. “I love you. It’s okay.” 

And it is, isn’t it? For the first time in months, in over a year, it just might be. Link hiccups, fingers twisting up in Rhett’s shirt, and he just might believe Rhett. He has a headache between his eyes from crying and his throat is sore, but Link just might believe him. 

“Come sit with me,” Rhett says, pulling away only enough to smile down at Link. The sun plays through his hair and his eyes are alight, blazing. He looks happier than Link has seen him since the beginning, since the first time. Behind the happiness there is hope, heaps of it, rising with every second that passes and Link stays where he is. Link intends never to let it leave Rhett’s eyes again. 

“Under your tree?” Link asks, and Rhett leans down to press a soft kiss to his lips. 

When Rhett draws away he says, “It’s yours as much as it’s mine, Link.” He pauses, mouth inches from Link’s, the heat between them palpable. And then Rhett says, “Everything that’s mine is just as much yours, if that’s what you want.” 

“Yes, Rhett,” Link rushes out, scared in the back of his mind this vision could vanish at any moment. “Yeah, this is what I want.”

They lounge under the tree until the sun begins to sink into the horizon, Rhett fiddling with his guitar. His legs are crossed and Link lies with his head propped on one of Rhett’s knees. Rhett plays softly as if he knows how badly Link needs to rest and how much he needs this moment in which to do it. It takes him a long time, the gentle thrum of guitar strings a little too loud despite Rhett’s careful fingers, but in the end Link gets what he needs. He gets to rest, to doze with Rhett playing him a quiet lullaby. The rhythm changes once Rhett thinks Link is asleep, Rhett saying his name a few times and Link too tired to reply. It changes to Link’s song, to the one he found and lost, and Rhett sings softly under the fading sun.

And Link cannot believe all of this belongs to him.

He has Rhett, his best friend, the person who has shared his life with him since the beginning. He has this tree, this home, this sky, and he has the song Rhett sings in a hushed, husky whisper. He has love, more than he could ever have asked for, and he has safety in the man who holds his heart. 

There is nothing certain about the future, too many dark things looming over the horizon, but for now Link is content. What is wrong with that? He can worry later, when he is not so tired, when he has had time to love Rhett and hold him and kiss him in the home that belongs to them. Later he will fret, later, later, later, but for now he is going to lie here until Rhett asks him to move. 

With Rhett humming above his head, guitar strings bending beneath Rhett’s fingertips, Link falls asleep. When he wakes up Rhett is still there, the sky purple over their heads. The oak tree is still there and so is the house, darkened as night falls. Rhett is still there and not much else matters. 

“Hey,” Link says, and Rhett claps his hand to the neck of his guitar to quiet the strings. 

“Yeah?” Rhett replies. 

“You’re mine,” Link says. He echoes the sentiment of Rhett’s song, the same thing Rhett lamented but laments no more. Rhett smiles crookedly, eyes crinkling up, and he nods. 

“Yeah, baby,” Rhett says. “’M yours.” 

“And I’m yours,” Link replies. His voice hitches up, making the statement into a timid little question, and again Rhett nods. Link watches him upside down, neck aching from sleeping with his head on Rhett’s bony knee, and even from the strange angle Rhett looks beautiful. 

“Yeah,” Rhett says. “You’re mine.” And with that, for now, Link is satisfied. He lets Rhett set aside his guitar, jiggling his knees to get Link to move, and when he does Rhett opens his arms. Link leans back into them, Rhett stretching his long legs out on either side of Link and wrapping both arms around him, and with the sun vanishing bit by bit Link rests against Rhett’s chest. Rhett’s hands are crossed on Link’s belly and his chin propped on Link’s head, the two of them not saying much. There simply is no longer much to say. Link knows what Rhett is thinking and Rhett must hear Link’s whirring thoughts ( _I love you, I love you. Thank you, thank you, for giving this to me_ ). In the quiet autumn evening they sit, Link clasping his hands over Rhett’s, and they don’t move for what feels like years. Link is going to stay here forever; he is going to lean against Rhett as Rhett rests against the tree, the two of them as still as stone. He is going to sit here forever where nothing else matters, nothing at all, besides Rhett’s heart beating close to Link’s ear. 

But something always reminds Link of all the things they are yet to do and tonight there is no exception. Rhett kisses the top of Link’s head and tells him they have to go, to go back to Link’s motel room just to pack their things if nothing else. Back there is the last place Link wants to go but with the sun gone it gets chilly, the air cooling around them as night falls. He agrees, dragging himself to his feet and offering one hand to Rhett. When Rhett takes it, squeezing Link’s fingers, Link helps him stand and wastes no time in throwing both arms around him. Rhett laughs, giddy, and Link feels the same. Miraculous, stunning, Rhett leaves a warm, gentle kiss on Link’s temple and holds him tight. 

“We gotta go, man,” Rhett says. But Link is not quite ready. No part of him wants to leave the house, his home. He is sure to walk away will be to lose it; it simply is too good to be real. 

“Rhett, are you sure this is mine?” Link asks. He means the house, he means Rhett’s heart, and Rhett understands. Link knows he does. 

“Yeah,” Rhett replies. “All of it.” He pauses, lips moving to Link’s forehead. And then, “All of me.” And that is enough to make Link move. (All their lives they moved in tandem, in parallel, side by side but never meeting in the middle. And now, here they are, pressing their hearts into one another’s hands, and all of Rhett is something Link has never had before.) 

They leave the house behind and Rhett has his hand back on Link’s knee as Link turns in his seat to watch the house disappear. 

“It’ll be there when we get back,” Rhett promises. And wildly, above everything his brain screams at him, Link believes it. 

 

One more night passes them by in the motel, one more night sleeping in a place that’s far from home. Link is restless, giving up on sleep and choosing to watch Rhett snore instead. In the morning Link packs his things, the mess he has accumulated easier to neatly stow away than he expected. At his side Rhett does the same. They take a dozen trips outside, filling up both cars with their things, bumping into one another and offering apologies in the form of quick kisses and caresses. Each one promises the same thing: more. Later, when they have time. Later, when they have their own home. Later, later. Link has been dreaming of _later_ for so long it feels like he’s pretending now that it’s here. He’s making it up as he goes, he has to be. It’s too good to be true, to be his, but every time he opens his mouth to ask, Rhett is there to kiss him and snatch the question off his tongue. 

“You’re okay,” Rhett tells him when he idles too long in the doorway, the room empty of all the things that made it Link’s. The desk chair is pushed neatly in close to the desk and the clothes are off the floor, the bed empty and the nightstands barren. 

“Are you sure?” Link asks in reply. 

Instead of answering, Rhett bends down to place the last box on the ground outside the room. He straightens up, takes a step closer, and pulls Link into his arms. 

“I’ve never been more sure in my life,” Rhett says next, chasing the admission with a kiss on Link’s cheek. In Rhett’s arms it gets easier, leaving the room that does not belong to Link anymore. He brings the key to the lobby of the motel and he checks out, Rhett’s hand clasped in his. Only when they have to take separate cars to their new home does Link let go. 

“You’ll be right behind me,” Link says, eyes locked on Rhett’s. “Right?”

“Forever,” Rhett replies, always offering up grandness and eternity when Link only asks for little moments. But it’s okay by Link, the promise of always and forever, and he rises up to kiss Rhett under one eye. 

“Okay,” Link says. Okay. 

Rhett follows him all the way home, into the driveway, across the front yard. Rhett follows him into the house, leaving most of their things in two cars for the time being. For now they have more important things to do. Rhett carries a duvet across his shoulders, draped over him like a cape, dragging on the hardwood floor. Link carries two pillows under one arm and leads the way. Their new bedroom is empty, a bed and a nightstand and a dresser things to worry about for another day. For now there are more important things to worry about. 

Link takes the duvet from Rhett and lays it on the bedroom floor, getting on his hands and knees to smooth it down. Rhett’s hands land on his back, running down the length of Link’s spine, and Link tells him to wait. They have time. They do. Whether or not he believes it himself, Link has Rhett for as long as he wants, for as long as he can fathom. He is not going to take one more second of having Rhett at his side for granted. 

It was too long of a road to get here to take it as a given now. 

Link rises and places both pillows on the floor, down at the head of their makeshift bed. Rhett watches him, lips parted, eyes half-lidded, and Link pauses in his endless motion to kiss him. 

“You’re…” Rhett begins, but Link has heard enough about all the things Rhett sees in him. For now there are more important things to hear. 

Reverent, slow, Link undoes the buttons on Rhett’s shirt one by one. He pushes it from Rhett’s shoulders, the shirt dropping to the floor, and Rhett is nowhere near as careful when he drags Link’s T-shirt over his head. Laughing, hair a mess and all over his face, Link places both hands on Rhett’s cheeks and gives him a kiss that may well be the best one they have ever shared. Overwhelmed, light-headed, and free, Link kisses Rhett until his mouth is red and his eyes slip closed. Only then does Link continue with the more important things he has to do. 

Careful, deliberate, Link sinks to his knees on the bedroom floor. Rhett watches him, mouth open, neck creaking as he follows Link with his eyes. Link takes hold of Rhett by the hips, splaying his hands over the bones. Rhett slips one hand into Link’s hair and cards it back from his face. Rhett pulls, gentle, and Link buries his nose in the soft hair above the waistband of Rhett’s jeans. He leaves a trail of kisses there, closing his eyes against the scent of Rhett, focusing on the sharp pain of Rhett’s hand in his hair. 

“Link…” Rhett breathes, and the longing in his voice is all Link needs to keep moving. He slides one hand to the button of Rhett’s jeans and pops it open, easing the zipper down, Rhett insistent on moving faster than Link will allow. 

“Wait,” Link says. “Just wait, sweetheart.” The honey he lets into his voice stills Rhett, his hold on Link’s hair letting up enough to stop hurting. Link takes hold of the belt loops on Rhett’s jeans and pulls them down, dropping kisses on the indentations the denim leaves in Rhett’s skin. “I love you,” Link murmurs, and Rhett slides his hand down to cup Link’s cheek. 

“Love you, too,” Rhett replies. “Link, I love you.” He says it like he intends to say more, to spin a poem for Link’s ears only, but there are more important things to take care of. There are more important things to say. Link hooks his thumbs into the waistband of Rhett’s underwear and everything Rhett wants to say falls to the wayside. His hand is back in Link’s hair before Rhett’s underwear joins the jeans bunched up at his feet. 

“I love you,” Link says again, because this is his home and so is Rhett. He is allowed to say it until it tears his throat; he is allowed to say it until it bleeds. He ducks his head to kiss Rhett’s thigh and then the other, leaving damp spots on Rhett’s skin as he goes. Rhett pulls his hair and it’s okay; it hurts but in the best way. Again Link closes his hands over Rhett’s hips, moving as slowly as he dares. And Rhett’s fingernails brushing at his scalp as he takes Rhett into his mouth is the best thing he has ever felt. Rhett sighing Link’s name as he moves is the best thing Link has ever heard. The sweet scent of Rhett’s skin is the best thing he has ever smelled and the tang of Rhett on his tongue is the best thing he has ever tasted. So much time has been wasted but they still have so much left, so much ahead. 

Link takes all the time he dares and then he takes some more. 

Rhett is pliant in Link’s hands and giving against his lips, both hands clasped at the back of Link’s head. Glasses fogged up and head spinning, Link does all he can to give back all Rhett gives to him. He flattens his tongue and Rhett hums his name, thighs trembling under Link’s hands. 

Link believes all the pretty things Rhett said he never believed before. He will never want for anything again. Anything and everything he wants is his, starting with a home and ending with Rhett spilling across his tongue. Everything he wants is his. And at this moment all he wants is Rhett. They fall into their temporary bed, Rhett groaning as his back creaks, and Link is astride him in the next moment, turning him over to rub the knots from his spine. Again Rhett moans Link’s name and Link shivers, the heat in Rhett’s voice warming Link to his bones. 

It would take the world ending to shake Link from his bed on the floor as Rhett settles naked against his chest. Link holds him, running his fingers along every bit of warm, soft skin that he can reach as Rhett purrs at his side. To think Link spent a year, spent his whole damn life running from something this good…he closes his eyes, breathes Rhett in, and shoves the thoughts away. For once nothing bad will come of hiding from his thoughts; for once his frantic, anxious brain is wrong and the man dozing in his arms is right. It’s okay to accept this. It’s okay to grow up, to get older, to take the things he wants before it’s too late. 

It took Link too long to figure it out but at least he learned before he ran out of time. 

He whispers Rhett’s name over and over until Rhett stops responding, succumbing to sleep, and Link is not far behind. It’s the middle of the day but it’s been a long one, chasing one another through the motions of moving in together. They are allowed this. And Link takes it. 

He says Rhett’s name one more time and follows it with a kiss, letting his lips linger at Rhett’s hairline, tasting salt on his skin. Link ran for a long time. He ran until he couldn’t and by the time he slowed and stopped he almost missed all the things that should have been his. Rhett may never believe him; Rhett may always be waiting for Link to vanish like the setting sun. But Link is going to tell Rhett again and again until he is sure: Link is never going to leave Rhett alone again. 

Rhett spoke of marriage and Rhett spoke of a life that’s only theirs but now is not the time. Still, Link lets his mind wander to light dancing off brand new wedding bands as he drifts blissfully off to sleep. The images chase him into his dreams and in the middle of a spectacular sunset he wakes to find himself smiling. When he glances at Rhett, the man held tight in his arms, he finds Rhett looks much the same. 

Link leans in, kisses the corner of Rhett’s upturned mouth, and goes back to sleep in his arms. 

 

Link and Rhett spend the weeks leading up to Thanksgiving in moments of flux. They buy picture frames, shower curtains, a toaster, a coffeemaker to match the walls, and they make runs to the store in the middle of the night to buy more pressing things like toothbrushes and towels. They buy furniture: a coffee table, a leather sofa and a loveseat to match, and a TV stand they buy long before the TV. They buy popcorn and watch movies squished together on the loveseat, legs tangled up and hands laced together. They have their moments, the moments that belong to only them, but as the holidays get closer the questions looming over Link’s head come swimming to the surface. 

(Will he be allowed to spend the holidays with his family? Will Christy let him into her home? Will the kids be happy to see him? Will anyone?)

Link has made his way to Christy as many times as he dares over the weeks, dropping in to spend minutes at a time with his kids. They act as if nothing has changed and Link does not ask if he has them or their mother to thank for that. They treat him the same as always, like he is the best father they could ever hope to have. And every time he has to leave it takes all he has to keep from crying. They love him, sincerely and with their whole hearts, and to still have that after everything means more to Link than he can ever tell them. He tries, giving them hugs that linger and babying them more than he has in years. If they notice he keeps his hold on them for longer than he used to, they do not tell him so. 

Christy sits Link down in the middle of the backyard one afternoon a few days before Thanksgiving. She tugs on his hand and pulls him down to sit in the grass as the kids play, shouting all at once to be heard first. Even so, when Christy speaks her voice is hushed, Link leaning close to hear. 

“You have to tell them, you know,” she says, bullet number one on the list of things Link is yet to do. “That you’re gonna be…that you’re gonna be his from now on. They should know.” Christy picks at the grass, faded by the late autumn chill to the air. She plucks blades out one by one and places them in a neat line on the knee of her jeans. Quiet, heart hammering, Link watches her. “I don’t care how you say it s’long as you tell them the truth,” she finishes, offering up a shrug and a quirk of one eyebrow, a question in her face. _Are you going to tell them the truth?_ Link is. He is; he just needs more time. It’s terrifying, the thought of figuring out a way to tell his children what Rhett means to him. Surely they are too young to know, too young to care what it is their father does when he is not with them. But Christy reaches out, squeezing Link’s knee, and she tells him something that surprises him. She tells him he is brave. “You trusted yourself,” she says, tracing patterns on Link’s knee with her thumbnail. “That’s bravery if I ever saw it.”

“I didn’t trust myself at all,” Link says, Christy looking up to meet his eyes. It’s easier than he expected to tell the truth. “I trusted him.” 

For a while Christy is quiet. When she speaks, she is quiet still. “You should learn to trust yourself, then,” she says. “Life gets a lot easier when you don’t sit there doubting every move you make.” 

“Are you that sure?” he asks her, and Christy shakes her head, a wry smile crossing her face.

“No,” she says. “I was. I was sure of the path I chose.” A pause. “Until you made a move that erased the path in front of me. Then I had to take a step back and look again.” 

“I’m sorry,” Link tells her, and again she shakes her head. 

“No, I…I just have to take a lotta time, I think, to relearn who I am without you.”

“Chris, you…”

“You don’t have to say it. I know what you’re gonna say.”

“You won’t ever be without me,” he says anyway. “Not as long as you want me around.” 

Christy looks up to watch their children race across the yard, slipping in the grass and helping one another up every time they fall. She looks serene, at peace as she looks at all the good she and Link have done. She watches them as she tells him, “I’m gonna want you around for the rest of my life, Link. And they’re gonna want you around, too.” 

“Chris,” Link says, and she tears her eyes from the kids to look at him. “Thank you,” he says. 

Christy gives him a sad little smile, the ghost of the smile he knows so well but a smile just the same. “You’re welcome, Link,” she says. “When I look at them I get reminded of how much exactly I have to thank you for. So…” She trails off, shrugging, and goes back to picking idly at the grass. One hand lingers on Link’s knee, her fingers cold and her palm warm. In the end she finishes her thought, so softly Link almost misses it. “So this is the least I can do,” she tells him, not meeting his eyes. 

It took him a long time to get here, to this moment in which Christy sits tranquil at Link’s side. It took him a long time to realize what he sees now: his life can never again be all or nothing. He has to take what he can and he has to accept what he is given. There is no more waiting for everything to fall into his lap and there is no more fighting to keep everything he has built. All he has to do is let go. And everything that is his will stay that way. Everything else? Now is the time to release, to pass the things that no longer belong to him into a surer pair of hands. 

(If he stopped praying after Rhett came back into his life now is the time to try again.)

“It’s enough,” Link tells Christy, draping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her close. “Hey, don’t worry. It’s enough.” She does not cry, not this time, but she sniffles under his arm and leans heavy against him. She takes his free hand in both her own and holds it, turning it over and watching his wedding band gleam. He wears it out of habit, scared of the consequences of slipping it off, afraid the world may slide away from him all over again. Christy hesitates with Link’s hand in hers but only for a beat, slipping the ring off his finger and making it vanish in her cupped hand. 

“I’m gonna love you until the day I die, I think,” she tells him, Link’s bare finger feeling painfully light without the ring he has worn since he was young. “But,” Christy says, the hand not clutching Link’s ring moving to cup his hand again, “you’re not mine anymore. It’s gonna take some gettin’ used to.” 

He tells her it’s all right, it’s okay; she can take all the time in the world to relearn how to live. After all, Link needs much the same. 

Christy brings Link’s hand to her lips and kisses him, keeping her mouth pressed warm to his skin as her eyes trail back to the kids. “Just do right by us, Link,” she says, mumbling against the back of his hand. “Promise me that you’ll do what’s right for all of us.”

He does not pause to breathe, to think, to tell her he can make no promises before he replies. “I promise,” he says. “I will.”

 

It’s a quiet Thanksgiving, one spent at Link’s new home. The kids, all five of them, sit sprawled under the oak tree in the backyard as the holiday winds down, Jessie and Christy and Rhett cleaning up the kitchen. It was Jessie’s idea to have the celebration here and Link is going to thank her the moment he gets a chance; he watches the kids and takes his time as he plucks up the courage to tell them everything they deserve to know. 

The kids pay him no mind as he lopes across the lawn, hands stuffed in the pockets of his jeans. Only when he makes it to the tree, his shadow joining the five little shadows on the grass, do they look up one by one to greet him. 

“What’s up, Dad?” Lily asks, sitting up from where she rests against the trunk of the tree. The boys follow her lead, leaning close as Link sinks to the grass. He settles close to Lincoln and the rest of the boys scoot closer as Link draws his knees to his chest. They look at him, curiosity keeping them still as they wait for whatever it is he wants to say. 

It’s harder than it should be to start to speak. 

“I’m sorry,” is the first thing he says, acutely aware of each face turned up towards him. “I’m sorry so many things changed at once.” He wants to speak to them like people instead of children but surrounding him like this they look so small, even Lily as she sits with her legs crossed behind all the boys. Link clears his throat and tries again. “I hope you all know how much I…how much we love you. And I’m sorry if it’s been hard on you. But I hope you know it’s…” He pauses, unsure, and in the moment he spends utterly lost he hears something coming from inside the house. He hears Rhett’s voice, his laughter booming from inside and spilling out across the lawn. It’s all Link needs to keep going. “It’s gonna only get better from here,” he finishes. “Okay?” 

“It hasn’t been bad, Daddy,” Lily tells him, always looking out for Link like it’s second nature. The boys glance back at her and she gives them a stern look, one that tells Link things have been far from perfect. Even so he is grateful for the help Lily offers and he takes it in both hands. 

“Good,” he says. “That’s good.” Again he pauses, feeling slow and close to hapless, but he owes them this and he is going to give them all he can. But before he gets the chance Locke speaks up, Rhett’s son through and through, sharp and blunt when he needs to be. 

“Are you and my dad gonna get _married_ , Link?” he asks. He says it like the concept of marriage is alien and all too adult for him, not like it’s the concept of his father marrying someone else that bothers him. Link tries to speak, intent on saying something, anything at all to fill the strange and baffled silence. 

But someone else does it for him. 

“’Cause it’s okay if you are,” Lincoln says at Link’s side. “We all talked about it. We’re not babies, Dad. We know what’s goin’ on.” 

“Yeah, Lily told us you were livin’ with Dad when she went to visit you,” Locke says, eyes firm on Link. “We’re not stupid.” 

“Am I gonna be invited if you get married?” Lando asks, and his little voice chipping in is what sends Link over the edge. He laughs, choking on it, startling the kids. Lincoln claps him hard on the back and it only makes him laugh more, the kids looking at one another in utter confusion. 

Link thought this would be harder. He thought he might be struck down, a bolt of lightning cutting across the lawn to chase him if he tried to explain to the kids what Rhett means to him. But nothing happens. They know and he’s still alive to tell them the truth; they are right. 

Wiping tears from his eyes with the back of his hand, Link tells the kids who stare open-mouthed at him that he and Rhett have a lot to do before they even think about moving past simply living together. 

“At least you get to be together,” Lily says, voice soft, reminding Link of just how blessed he is. It’s easy to forget when things get hard how lucky he is to be sitting here beneath his big oak tree. 

“You’re right,” Link tells his daughter, Lily cracking a smile as he offers up one of his own. 

“Just make sure he doesn’t forget about us,” Shepherd says, speaking up for the first time since Link sat down. His little face is taut as he frowns, concern making him look even younger than he is. This much Link can promise: Rhett is going to be the best father in the world above all else. He tells Shepherd so and he is satisfied in the simple way children are, the worry on his face easing as quickly as it came. “Thank you,” Shepherd says, and that is all. He wanders away and Lando follows, the little circle disintegrating as the kids get bored of sitting still. The last to go is Lily, staying close to Link even as Rhett makes his way over from inside. She tilts her chin far up to look at Rhett, brow furrowed and mouth set hard. 

“What is it?” Link asks her as Rhett drops a hand into his hair, stroking it back from his forehead and tucking it behind his ears. 

In reply Lily speaks to Rhett. “You love him a lot, don’t you?” she asks, and from behind Link Rhett says he does. “Well, so do I. So you better take care of him. He was my dad before he was your boyfriend.” And the word _boyfriend_ seems silly, ludicrous, but Link will take it just the same. 

“I won’t let anything bad happen to him, Lil,” Rhett promises, tugging at Link’s hair. “Anytime you want him, he’s yours, and I’ll make sure he stays safe and sound in the meantime.”

“And happy,” Lily says, stern. 

“And happy,” Rhett agrees. _And happy_. Link likes the sound of that. In the end Lily goes back to playing with the boys, a made up game with ridiculous rules, and Rhett and Link give up trying to referee the game long before the kids are done playing it. They head inside, meeting the girls who play cards at the kitchen table, and Jessie deals them in. 

“They knew already,” Christy says, after one round of the game, guessing what Link is going to tell her before he says it. “Didn’t they?”

“They’re not stupid,” Link says. “They only told me about a hundred times.” Christy laughs, the sound miraculous, and she tells Link he should have known that already. 

“They’re always smarter than you think,” Jessie says, offering Link a wink when he looks up at her from across the table. “They always know more than you expect.” 

“Why is it that those sort of instincts leave you when you get older?” Christy asks, teasing, giving Link an elbow to the ribs. “We only get dumber as we age, don’t we?” 

“That’s okay,” Rhett says, taking the spent deck of cards and reshuffling them in skillful hands. 

“Yeah, at least we’re all gettin’ dumber together,” Link adds. 

“Speaking of people who are too old to get any smarter,” Christy says, mischief lighting up her eyes, “you’re gonna have to tell your parents, you know. And mine. And a helluva lot of other people.” 

“I will,” Link says, shaking his head, Jessie giggling from across the table with one hand over her mouth. “Just not yet.”

“Don’t wait until they die and tell it to their gravestones,” Christy says, but she doesn’t have a hint of malice in her voice. Not anymore. Rhett deals the cards, mouth twitching up as Christy laughs, and Link takes the cards he is given. 

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, ignoring the pressing issue of telling the world who he is exactly. The time will come for that; it will. But it’s not now. It’s not here. If Rhett wants to go back to filming, to creating, to building, Link will give that to him. With that will come the need to spill the truth. But it’s not now. It’s not here. Here things are easy, gentle words passed around a brand new kitchen table, laughter slipping out across the wood. Here things are good, safe, Rhett stepping on Link’s toes under the table and grinning when Link meets his eyes. 

Here, Link takes the cards he is given. It’s about time he is satisfied with nothing more than that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well...this is it. The penultimate chapter. Only one more after this......wow. No part of me wants this to end but the story is drawing to a close and I have to let it go. All I can hope is that all of you enjoy the last of this ride with me and follow me through many more <3 
> 
> Oh, and suggested listening for this chapter is [Acquiesce by Oasis](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N7xdHY8HK9Y) :)


	18. Where Music Comes From

“There’s nothing to be nervous about. It’s just you and me, baby. No one else.” Rhett assures Link for the fourth time that he’s okay and nothing terrible is going to happen once the camera goes on. And for the fourth time, Link drops his head to the table and tells Rhett to wait. He is well-practiced in front of the camera, happier with the camera’s red light in his face than almost anywhere else. But now it feels a little more foreign and a little less like second nature. This is nothing; this is a practice run. But Link is nervous, rendered immobile by the camera in front of him. Rhett waits at his side, patient and quiet, one hand running up and down the length of Link’s thigh. 

_This is a good idea_ , Link tells himself. _This is going to be good_. The thoughts are startling in their similarity to the thoughts he had at the very beginning, more than a decade ago now, when he and Rhett were just starting to build their empire. 

_This is a good idea_ , Link told himself back then, back home in North Carolina where they were just two boys with a camera. _This is going to be good_. And Rhett agreed with him; Rhett told Link the same thing his brain told him. They were about to do great things together, Rhett and Link, two parts of a whole, two kings of a budding realm. Together they were going to conquer the world. Link was sure of it. And if Link was sure, so was Rhett, and he told Link so as they conjured up plans and ideas and dreams. Their heads bowed over notebooks, the both of them with pens in hand, Rhett told Link they were about to make history. And always, beyond all else, Link believed him. He believed in Rhett and Rhett believed in him and that is how they grew. Their belief in one another built them up brick by brick. Never, not for one moment, did Link stop to think they were making the wrong choice. Not once. 

Rhett leaned close as they set up their camera for the first time, one single camera and two little chairs. Rhett leaned close and he told Link for the hundredth time that day, “This is going to be a good thing. This is going to be really, really good.” Link nodded for the hundredth time that day and told Rhett he knew that already. He knew. They were dreamers through and through and nothing was going to change that. The only way they were going to survive was if they did something about it. So there they were, two boys and one idea, and they built something great. They started from one sea and drifted to the other, side by side, two halves of one restless soul. 

They did great things together, from the very beginning. 

And they are going to do great things again.

Rhett assures Link over and over as they sit in the basement of their new home, shoulder to shoulder in front of a camera. The camera, mounted on a tripod and still covered in dust from a year in storage, is too much for Link. He isn’t ready. He might not ever be. He wants to tell Rhett as much; he ought to tell Rhett as much before Rhett can get his hopes up. But Link looks over at him and it’s overwhelming, all-consuming, the wave of remembrance that hits Link all at once. Rhett looked at him just like this back home, back when they were young, back when they gave up everything for a shot at something big. Rhett looked the same then as he does now: his eyes wide, his mouth turned up at one corner, his eyes gleaming with promise and hope and something else that Link still cannot place. It’s the same _something_ , the same glimmer, but this time something is different. This time Link asks what it is. 

“What’s the look for?” Link asks, Rhett’s hand tightening on his thigh under the card table. It’s a new card table, one they bought the other night on a whim, one eerily similar to the table they sat behind when they had a hell of a lot more to lose. At Link’s side, Rhett smiles, this time leaning far closer than he ever did when they were young. He presses his forehead to Link’s, breath washing over Link’s face, free hand coming up to cup Link’s cheek. 

“”M just thinking about how lucky I am,” Rhett says, voice soft and rumbly. “You’re here and you’re mine. And I love you. ‘M just…I’m lucky.” His eyes drop to Link’s lips and in the next moment he eases away the space between them, gifting Link a gentle kiss. When he pulls away, nose brushing Link’s, Link fails to hide the tears burning behind his eyes. “What’s wrong?” Rhett asks, brow creasing, fingers on Link’s cheek. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

Link has no idea how to tell Rhett what he’s feeling. It’s too much, knowing Rhett felt so strongly even back then. It’s too much, knowing Rhett knew Link was his, knowing Rhett loved Link with all his heart, even then when they would not allow themselves to say so. It’s too much and Link has no control over the heat behind his eyes; he blinks and tears fall. Rhett catches them with his thumb, pulling back to wipe them on his jeans. Concern makes him quick and his hand is back on Link’s face in the next moment, Rhett doing his best to catch each tear. 

“Baby,” Rhett says. “What is it?” 

(If Rhett had called Link _baby_ then; if Rhett had been brave enough to say all the things he spills like second nature now…)

Link does not allow himself to think about it anymore; dreaming of the way things could have been is no way to keep moving forward. Link is here now, under Rhett’s hands, under Rhett’s gaze, and that is never going away. This is his forever and this is his now. Telling himself so makes it easier to speak. “You loved me,” Link says, meeting Rhett’s stormy eyes. “You loved me when we started, didn’t you? When we first started out, when we sat in front of the camera and had no friggin’ idea what we were doin’. You loved me then. Didn’t you?” His voice is creaky from fighting back tears but Rhett hears him loud and clear just the same. 

“Oh, Link,” he says, forgetting the camera and forgetting the professionalism they promised to keep in front of the blinking red light. “Link, you know I did. I loved you so much. You were my _everything_ , Link. And you were taking this leap with me, this impossible, insane leap, and you were _happy_ to be doing it. Of course I loved you. I owed you the world.” Rhett pauses. “I still do,” he adds, and that is all Link needs to hear. He is the one to close the space between them this time, capturing Rhett’s lips and burying his hands in Rhett’s hair. Later, Rhett will complain that he has to do his hair all over again. But he will smile, he will kiss Link absolutely silly, and he will do what he does best. He will make the best of what he has. (Link still learns to do the same.) 

“I owe _you_ ,” Link counters. That is the end of their focus for a while, the two of them trading kisses and soft words of comfort until the racing of Link’s heart begins to slow. Rhett does it to him; Rhett calms him in a way no one else has ever been able to. And Rhett is always going to be here, right at Link’s side, waiting to offer Link the world if that is what he wants. What more could Link ever ask for? 

“Whaddya say we try again?” Rhett asks, hands in Link’s hair, heedless of the mess his fingers make. “Are you ready?” 

Link tears his eyes from Rhett’s face to look instead at the camera, the light out and the lens waiting like a single open eye. He’s not ready. He has never felt less ready than he does now, his knees quaking and his mind whirring. But Rhett is here. There is nothing to worry about. Rhett tells him so, over and over, and if Rhett says there is nothing to fear? There is nothing to fear. 

“Yeah,” Link lies. “Yeah, I’m ready.” He and Rhett take time to fix their hair, to muss it up again, to kiss and laugh and whisper like they fear being heard. But in the basement of their new home, in the makeshift studio they built from nothing, there is nothing to be afraid of. Nothing at all. Rhett smooths Link’s hair until he is satisfied and then Link does the same for him, tucking loose strands behind Rhett’s ears and into the carefully crafted swoop Rhett hasn’t worn in weeks. They have been too busy to care about much besides one another, too busy to get haircuts or to do a lot of the things they should. (Call Stevie, call in some favors, reignite some fires, reinstate some long abandoned social media accounts.) Link still has yet to cut his hair, to shave his face, to try to look anything other than tired and old. But Rhett is much the same, his beard too long and his eyes bloodshot, from lack of sleep and from the building up of too many grand ideas at once. This is just a practice run, after all, and they have all the time in the world to get it right. 

“I have an idea,” Rhett says, scooping the remote for the camera off the card table and holding it in one hand, at the ready like a weapon. “Lemme talk first.”

“Always,” Link replies. He gives Rhett a taste of the grandness Rhett offers him, and it’s not lost on the man at Link’s side. Rhett beams. 

“Ready?” Rhett asks. Link tells him no. Still, Rhett counts down, starting from three and ending at one. On zero, Rhett presses the button, turns the camera on, and faces the lens head on. It takes Link an extra heartbeat, an extra breath to do the same. “It’s been a while,” Rhett says, nudging Link with his elbow. Without being told, Link knows exactly what to say. 

“Let’s talk about that.” 

 

Later, the first practice run of many over and done, Rhett is radiant as he cradles Link in his arms. They lie almost naked in bed in the middle of the day, tangled up and euphoric, talking wildly about all the things that wait ahead of them. 

“And I know they’re gonna come back for us, Link, I just know it,” Rhett says, speaking of the millions of people he and Link left behind. “They miss us, a lot, and it’ll be like we were never gone. I mean, at first it’ll be tough, I think, ‘cause we were gone for so long, but once we get back into the rhythm…” Rhett jumps into things all at once, heedless, without thinking, and Link struggles to keep up. He has been struggling to keep up his whole life, dragging Rhett back a step or two when he needs it. But right now, a step back is the last thing Rhett needs; he is so happy he glows as he conjures up a bright future. 

“Sure,” Link says, adding his part to the conversation. He is content to rest on Rhett’s chest for the moment, drumming his fingers on Rhett’s bare skin. For now, Link is happy to listen to Rhett speak about everything they have yet to do. 

“And we can’t wait too long to call Stevie and tell her we’re comin’ back or she’ll kill us,” Rhett says. “It won’t be the same as it was, I don’t think, not to the same scale. I want smaller. I miss how it was, yanno? When it was just me and you?”

“I know,” Link replies. 

“Hell, she might not even want anything to do with us after everything,” Rhett goes on. He strokes Link’s arm with his fingers and it tickles, Link squirming in Rhett’s arms. “She might tell us we’re on our own. But that’s okay. We can do it, can’t we? We still have somethin’ great in us, don’t we?”

“We do,” Link replies. Despite the time of day he is sleepy, yawning until his jaw pops. Rhett presses a kiss to Link’s forehead in response, whispering for him to go to sleep if he needs it. “No,” Link says. “No, I wanna keep talkin’ to you.” And it’s true; the last thing he wants to do is miss a minute with Rhett. He missed too much already, too many years he will never get back. He spent too much time keeping his distance and he intends to keep Rhett at his side as long as Rhett will allow. He tells Rhett so in not so many words, choosing to say simply, “I’m gonna wanna keep talkin’ to you forever, Rhett.” He slurs, sleep taking him, and Rhett chuckles in his ear. 

“I’ll be here when you wake up, bo,” Rhett says. “I promise.” 

“Love me still while I’m sleepin’, okay?” 

“I will, Link.”

“Love me still while I’m dreamin’ of you.”

“I will.”

“Love me still when I’m old and tired and…and…” He yawns again, Rhett laughing at him, and he pinches at Rhett’s bare skin. 

“You’re already old and tired,” Rhett coos, his lips at Link’s temple. “But guess what?”

“What?” Link asks.

“I love you anyway.” 

“Good,” Link says. “That’s good.” After that he goes quiet, letting sleep steal him from Rhett for the time being. He knows Rhett will still be with him when he wakes up. 

“Love me when I’m too old to sing you pretty songs,” Rhett says as Link drifts off to sleep. “Please. Love me forever.” There’s sorrow in his voice, tiredness and worry that might never go away. Link put it there. He put it there by hiding, by running, by saying terrible things. But he has time left to make it better; he has time to try. 

Too far gone to say anything else, Link keeps it easy. “Done.” 

 

For every part of Link’s life that changes, one part stays exactly the same. Link goes Christmas shopping for his kids but he does it with Rhett, the two of them sneaking touches and kisses as they shop. Link wraps presents with Christy and talks about their holiday plans but he tells her he has plans with Rhett. He is plagued with anxiety in the middle of the night, too many bits and pieces still unraveled, but he wakes to Rhett sleeping at his side. He’s scared, the future too wide, but every time he starts to panic there is an open pair of arms waiting for him. He is going to be all right. He is. 

He and Rhett have a world of plans, a world of ideas, and a world to take back as theirs. They talk, about nothing and about everything, in front of a camera and in front of no one. There are plans to make a triumphant return and there are plans to be better than ever before. But Link is tired, feeling older every day, and fear bites at his heels with every step he takes. 

But he is going to be all right. He is. 

Rhett gives Link a break one late night, the two of them brainstorming in the basement well past midnight. The moment Link yawns Rhett tells him it’s okay, the ideas will still be there in the morning. The future will still be there. Link balks at the idea of sleep, entranced by the ideas they toy with, and he fights Rhett on the virtues of pulling an all-nighter. 

“We’re never gonna make progress if we waste all our time sleeping,” Link snaps. 

“And we’re _definitely_ never gonna make progress if you don’t sleep,” Rhett replies. He speaks gently, nudging Link’s knee with his own. They sit at the card table, hunched over a single slip of notebook paper, bickering over the scribbles they intend to make into a song. They have been at it for hours, trying to make something good, and no matter what they do Link is scared it will never be good enough. They can’t get back what they gave up; they can’t create something out of a kingdom they set ablaze. He is frustrated, both by his inability to focus and by his inability to be calm, to trust Rhett like he has his whole life. It’s been a long time since Link has felt this kind of frustration, the kind that comes with hard work and lack of sleep, and it’s foreign to him. He can’t help but fight Rhett every step of the way, the two of them fighting like the old married couple they have always been accused of being. It’s this thought that gives Link pause; maybe one day he and Rhett _will_ be the old married couple. 

“What?” Rhett says when Link pauses in his fighting, putting down the pen in his hand and looking up at Rhett. Up close, Rhett has red eyes and the beginnings of crow’s feet, side effects of growing older. Up close, he is gorgeous, even in the middle of the night with tiredness weighing him down. His eyes gleam, stormy green and cloudy gray, and finally Link calms. He lets it wash over him, taking one breath and then another. 

There is nothing to be afraid of. There is nothing left to lose. All they have left to do is create, make things, rebuild and restore. 

They are going to be all right. They are. 

“Marry me,” Link says, letting it out, exhaustion loosening his tongue. Rhett sits too close, so close Link can smell the soft scent of his skin. 

Rhett exhales. “Shuddup,” he says, giving the first indication that he is just as tired as Link by leaning over the table and groaning as he stretches out his limbs. His back arched and his hands dangling off the front of the table, Rhett rests his forehead on the metal and heaves a sigh. Unable to see his face, Link is satisfied with brushing his fingers up and down Rhett’s spine. 

“I mean it,” Link says, counting each of the notches in Rhett’s spine with gentle fingers. “Marry me, Rhett. Whaddya say?”

“I say you’re overtired and overworked and you need to get some sleep,” Rhett mumbles into the card table. 

“Maybe,” Link replies. “But I still mean it. I want you to be mine.”

“I am,” Rhett mumbles. He turns his head to look at Link, lifting it off the card table like his brain weighs him down, and he props his chin on one fist. “You know that.”

“I do,” Link agrees. “But I want to be yours in every way I can. After not being yours at all, Rhett, I want all of you to be mine.” 

Bleary and tired, Rhett nods. “Okay,” he says, clenching his jaw as if to keep a yawn at bay. It doesn’t work; he yawns wide and lets his eyes slip closed. 

“Wake up,” Link says, hand on Rhett’s back, Rhett shifting at his side. “Hey, wake up.” 

Rhett opens his eyes and looks at Link, a sleepy little smile on his lips, and this version of Rhett is one Link knows better than he knows himself. This version of Rhett is the boy who stayed up all night at sleepovers just to talk about nothing. This version of Rhett is the boy who had to be convinced to stay up late and study in a cramped college dorm; this version of Rhett is the man who spent long nights creating something amazing with Link. Rhett is sleepy and slow and Link hardly ever gets to see this, always the one to succumb to sleep first. But he sees it now, Rhett almost dozing at Link’s side, and Link remembers a moment he pushed from his mind a long time ago. 

Rhett looked much the same in March of last year as he does now: tired and ready to rest. Back then it was the beginning; back then the shift in their relationship was still brand new. Rhett and Link sat in front of a camera behind two smiles and they told stories. They laughed and they bickered and they played ridiculous games. Afterwards they would make excuses to stay, to hide from their families and make out like teenagers in the empty studio. It was fun and it was exciting and it was exhausting; by the end of the very first week after the very first time, Rhett was leaning with his head on the table and his hands clasped on the back of his neck. The moment the camera turned off, Rhett turned off, too. He was grumpy and tired and stressed, anxious about his wife and anxious about Link. They had a good week, a great one, but Link could admit the same things worrying Rhett worried him, too. Link was tired himself and not in the mood to try and perk Rhett up; unpracticed in being the one to lend comfort, Link had no idea where to start.

So, they sat in silence. Link sent the crew home, waving goodbye as Rhett sat at his side, their knees brushing under the desk. By the time the door shut for the last time, the silence had shifted. It was strange, an uneasy silence unlike most silences between them. There was something on Rhett’s mind, something weighing heavy on him. Link kept the thought to himself, unwilling to press Rhett and risk him getting mad. The silence stretched out, the studio quiet and dark. Link drummed at the desk with his fingertips and Rhett told him to cut it out. The silence broken, Link told Rhett to shut up. They weren’t fighting, not exactly, but if Rhett was going to snap, Link was not going to coddle him and back away. 

Rhett surprised Link by apologizing. “’M just worried,” Rhett said, his head down and voice muffled. “I feel sort of…lost.” He said it like he was apologizing for that, too, telling Link he was sorry for feeling scared. Link couldn’t think of anything safe to say, anything good, so instead of saying anything, he clapped Rhett on the back. 

“Good thing I have an excellent sense of direction,” Link teased in reply, rubbing a circle into Rhett’s shoulder blade. 

“Oh, stop,” Rhett said. “’M tryin’ to be serious here.” Finally he lifted his head, looking at Link with a strange, uncertain look on his face. “Do you ever wonder if we’re doing good anymore, Link?” he asked. His stormy eyes shone even in the dim overhead lights of the darkened studio, lashes casting shadows on the bags under his eyes. 

“Of course we are,” Link replied. This was unlike Rhett; he was never the one to worry, to think too hard about the right and wrong choices. It was Link who worried, who wasted time unsure of what he wanted to try next. Link’s stomach clenched as Rhett frowned in the wake of all that Link could offer. 

“All I know is I want something good to happen,” Rhett said next. “I want this to work. I wanna do something good with you, Link.”

“Whaddya call this?” Link replied, waving his hand at the Good Mythical Morning studio like a king before a kingdom. 

“Oh, stop,” Rhett said again. “This is amazing. You know that. But what if it’s not enough? What if we’re workin’ so hard to get…nothing? What if all the work we’ve put into this…into _us_ , ends in nothing?”

“Rhett,” Link said, perplexed and scared by the confusion marring Rhett’s voice. “What are you tryin’ to say, man?” 

“I have no idea,” Rhett replied, the ghost of a chuckle chasing the admission. “I just want you to know, okay?” 

“Know what?” 

For a moment it looked like Rhett might have something monumental to say, something huge, and Link’s heart skittered in his chest. But Rhett’s shoulders sagged. He sighed, shaking his head, and he spoke slowly when he spoke next. “How much you mean to me,” he said. “How much I love spending all…all my life with you, makin’ stuff and…everything else. You know?” His eyes narrowed, dropping to Link’s lips and lifting back up. 

“Yeah, man, I know,” Link replied. He was baffled by the softness in Rhett’s voice, by the timidity in the words Rhett chose. Even so, he offered all he could. “This is…everything for me, too. I mean that.”

“You do,” Rhett said. 

“I do,” Link replied. 

“Okay,” Rhett said. He paused, looking away from Link to face the camera. “Link,” he said, the camera the only witness to the words that spilled from him. “I love you.” 

“Rhett,” Link said, exasperated, wondering what the hell got into Rhett. He never said that, never. It was unspoken, a given, something they didn’t have to say. But once it was said it begged to be echoed, two halves of a whole. Link tried and failed to say it back. Instead he said, “ _You’re_ everything for me.” And finally Rhett cracked a smile. 

“I’m sorry,” Rhett said, meeting Link’s eyes again and shaking the last bit of anxiousness from his voice and his limbs. “I’m just more tired than I thought. I don’t mean to be mushy. I just thought you should know how far I’m gonna go to keep something great with you.” 

“How far?” Link teased, grateful beyond measure the strange moment was over. 

“To the end of the world,” Rhett said, sincere despite Link’s attempt to lighten the mood. “I’m gonna do everything I can to keep this. Just…know that, okay?”

“I know,” Link replied. There was something else, something deeper down, but Rhett had said his piece. He leaned away from Link and heaved a sigh, dropping his head back to the table. “Hey, man, I believe in us,” Link said, talking despite Rhett’s attempt to draw the conversation to a close. “We’re gonna do whatever we set out to do,” Link goes on. “No matter what happens, Rhett, it’s gonna be me and you. We’re gonna put good things into the world. We’re gonna have good things in our world. I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t believe it, man. We’re gonna do it together. You know I wouldn’t say that if I didn’t believe it. And I’m all in too, you know. I promise. No matter what. You and me, Rhett.”

Rhett chuckled and cast Link out of his reverie. 

“Don’t laugh at me,” Link said. 

“I’m not,” Rhett replied. Again he looked up and again he offered Link a smile, eyes bleary and red. “Thank you,” he said. 

“They’ll write books about us,” Link replied. “About how we did amazing things together and never let anything come between us.” He hated being the one to lend comfort, insecure in his ability to offer help, but Rhett smiled at him and all traces of fear fell away. Link’s heart fluttered at the sight of the smile that had been his to cherish all his life. “Feel better yet?” Link asked, to keep the smile on Rhett’s face if nothing else.

“Yes,” Rhett replied. 

“Okay,” Link said, feeling better himself. 

“Okay,” Rhett replied. 

“Okay.”

Now, a world away from their old studio in their old life, Link offers all of himself yet again. Rhett is still tired, still the same man with the same bags under his eyes, but no part of him is lost and unsure now. He looks at Link, wonder in his eyes, the same wonder that urged Link forward as they built something amazing. 

“Are you with me?” Link asks, speaking of the way Rhett holds his head, barely awake. 

“Always,” Rhett replies. 

“Remember when you were scared, and you didn’t know if we were gonna make it?”

“Yes,” Rhett replies. 

“And I told you I believed in us, and you believed me?”

“Yes.”

“I believe in us now,” Link says, leaning in to cup Rhett’s cheek in one palm. “So believe me.”

Rhett leans into the touch. “I do,” Rhett says, nuzzling into Link’s hand. “I do.”

“So…”

“I’ll marry you, Link. If you believe in us, I believe in us, too. It’s always been that way, hasn’t it? I’ll believe in you until the day I die.”

Link kisses Rhett breathless, hands all over the place, entirely sure. “Thank you,” Link says. “Thank you.” 

“Thank _you_ ,” Rhett echoes. “For finally givin’ me all of you.” 

“Thank you for choosing me,” Link replies. “And for loving me. And for kissing me. And for touching me. And for marrying me. And for living here with me. And for making great things with me. And for…” Wordy and loud when Rhett wants peace and quiet, Link finds it hard to slow down. But Rhett is with him and Rhett hushes him with a kiss, with a series of them, pressed in quick succession. 

“Always,” Rhett says. “Always, baby, always.” And as long as Rhett believes in Link, Link will believe in him. If that is going to be forever? Forever it’ll be. 

 

There is one more thing Link has to do and he does it with trembling hands and a pounding heart. Link picks up the phone when Rhett is out with his kids, fingers shaking around it. It’s hard to dial with the way he quakes but after the fifth try, Link gets the number right. The phone rings four times before Lily picks up Christy’s phone. 

“Daddy!” she chirps, bright. 

“Lil!” he replies, surprised to get his daughter for a moment. “Hey, Lil. How are you?”

Lily talks animatedly about her day, her week, all the days Link has missed. It’s only been a few but it sounds like weeks, the way Lily fills Link in. He listens, relieved to have time to work up the courage to speak to her mother. But when she runs out of things to say and asks him how he is, Link finds himself no more ready. He takes his time to tell her everything, from the new toaster he bought after catching fire to the first to the movie he and Rhett are going to go see. Lily listens to every word and Link is grateful she is his. (He might have done a lot of wrong but in raising his children he might have done something right.)

“Anyway, you want Mom?” Lily asks too soon. Link tells her he does and she tells him to hold on. But he cries her name as she tries to pass off the phone without saying goodbye, Lily laughing as she pulls the phone away from Christy and asks Link what he wants. 

“I love you,” he says, and he can almost see the way Lily rolls her eyes at him. 

“Love you too, Dad,” she says, a smile blooming on Link’s face as he tells her he’ll see her soon. With no more excuses, Link says hello to Christy and waits for her to speak. 

“Hi, Link,” she says. “What’s on your mind?” She can tell already he has something to say, astute as she always has been. 

He says it before he can lose his nerve and save it for another day. “Christy, can I ask you something?” 

“Of course,” she says. “What is it?” 

“Christy, if I want to get married. If I wanna ask…if I was going to. Would I…would you…?” He closes his eyes, screwing them up and cursing himself. Leave it to him to be unable to get it out despite the best laid plans. 

“Link!” Christy says, and there is laughter in her voice. “Link, are you asking my permission to ask Rhett to marry you?”

“Well,” Link says, sweating through his T-shirt and shaking hard, “I guess I am.” 

“Link,” Christy says. “Oh, Link.” 

“What?”

“I love you so, so much,” she says. “You don’t need my permission for anything, sweetheart. He’s yours. He’d say yes in a heartbeat.”

“I…thank you.” He tries to say a million things at once and it comes out as a stammer, meaningless and quiet. Christy laughs and Link laughs with her, fear evaporating. 

“You’re welcome,” Christy says. “But lemme at him before you ask. I should warn him being married to you isn’t always the easiest thing in the world.”

“What!” Link chokes, laughing and scoffing at the same time, a strange noise escaping him.

“I’m only joking,” Christy replies. “He’s lucky. And so are you. Don’t forget that.”

“I couldn’t ever,” Link says. So relieved he can hardly breathe, Link’s voice comes out a squeak. “Thank you. Thank you.” Christy accepts thanks over and over, as many times as Link offers it, and when he hangs up the phone he feels a hundred pounds lighter. 

No matter what he and Rhett set out to do, they are going to do it. A promise was made and a promise will be kept, the two of them yet to finish all the things they’ve started. They have time. And Link is going to take all of it as his and never let it go. 

 

Rhett comes home and falls into bed with Link, lying on top of Link with his head on Link’s chest. “Missed you,” Rhett breathes as Link buries both hands in his hair. “I missed you, I missed you.”

“You don’t have to anymore,” Link replies. He kisses Rhett’s forehead and holds his lips there, mouth pressed to salty skin. 

“I will anyway,” Rhett says. “’Cause I can’t see your face.” He props his chin on Link’s sternum to look up at him through his eyelashes, smiling crookedly at Link. “There it is,” he says. 

“Here I am,” Link confirms. His heart flutters, threatening to erupt. He already asked and Rhett already said yes. But with his conscience clear and his head perfectly clouded, Link is scared out of his mind. This time it feels more official (despite, once again, his inability to wait causing him to ask without a ring) and Link hesitates as Rhett’s breath rushes hot against his throat. 

“What’s on your mind?” Rhett asks. 

“Marry me,” Link replies. 

“I already said I would, honey,” Rhett reminds him, pressing a kiss to Link’s collarbone over his T-shirt. “And I will. I would love to.” 

“I mean it,” Link says. He brushes Rhett’s hair back, Rhett’s eyes firm on him. “Rhett, will you marry me?” 

Finally, Rhett seems to get it. Link is asking him for real. Link is trying to ask him the right way. He sits up, readjusting long limbs until he’s straddling Link’s thighs, and Link closes his hands over Rhett’s hips. “Marry you?” Rhett asks, catching his lip between his teeth. “Marry _you_?”

“Yes,” Link breathes. 

“Link, yes. Yes, yes. I’ll marry you. Now, where’s my ring?” 

Link laughs, shaking with it, unable to stop. Rhett laughs too, his big, booming, beautiful laugh, mouth twisting up. They giggle like kids, like the kids they used to be, and Rhett takes Link’s hands off his hips to hold them. 

“I’ll ask you again when I have a ring,” Link says, the thought of a new band on Rhett’s finger making him shiver. 

“And I’ll say yes again,” Rhett replies. “No matter how many times you ask, I’ll say yes.” 

“Even if I ask every day? Ten times a day? A hundred?”

“Even then,” Rhett says. He looks at Link, eyes sparkling, smile wide, and Link fights back the urge to cry. Rhett is his. Honestly and truly and always, Rhett is his. The boys they were and the men they grew up to be all lead Link to this, to Rhett’s hands tangled up with his. All the tears and the fear and the panic and the laughter all brought Link to this house, to this home, to this bed. It was worth it, he believes, to almost lose it all to end up right here. 

All of this, he tells to Rhett. And to all of this, Rhett has one thing to say. “I love you,” he says. 

“I love you,” Link replies. 

“We still have greatness in us, baby,” Rhett says, drawing Link’s hands to his lips. “We’re gonna be better than we were before.”

“I believe you.”

“We’re gonna conquer the world.”

“I believe you.”

“We’re gonna tell the world and we’re gonna be okay. We’re gonna love each other forever and we’re gonna get old lovin’ each other.”

“I believe you.”

“Good,” Rhett says. “Good.” He pulls Link to him, Link cradling Rhett in his lap, the two of them tangling up together. They share a kiss and then another, adding to the thousands of kisses they have shared. All Link can hope for is a million more. 

There is so much behind them, after all, but one thing Link knows for sure. There is a hell of a lot more ahead. 

And with Rhett at his side, he is going to take it all. 

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here we are, at the very end. I'm going to miss this version of our boys immensely. I know I could have given them their wedding, their return, and all the things they have waiting for them. I could have followed them to the end of the earth. But I've told the story I want to tell, and they are going to be okay. 
> 
> I have enjoyed sharing and writing this story more than words can say. I know I'm quiet most of the time, but please know that every single comment absolutely made my day in a time of complete chaos in my life. 
> 
> The world's biggest thanks to all of you who've shared this story with me and made it worth telling; I appreciate each nd every kind word more than I will ever be able to say. 
> 
> I'm keeping weepy so I'm going to stop, but one more thing: you have not seen the last of me, not by a long shot. All the thanks in the world for all the wonderful things I've experienced and all the people I have met through this story; I would not and could not have done it without all of you.
> 
> All the love in the world and more. 
> 
> -Jean <3

**Author's Note:**

> Comments/questions/concerns gladly welcomed at reedytenors on tumblr :)


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